


Things that go "Fhtagn!" in the Night

by CC_Writes



Category: Cthulhu Mythos - H. P. Lovecraft, Red vs. Blue
Genre: Attempted Murder, Attempted Suicide, Body Horror, Child Abuse, Extra tags in notes by chapter, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Lovecraft AU, Lovecraftian, M/M, Monsters, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Reality Bending, Self-Hatred, Seriously Lovecraftian Horror goes to some pretty dark places my dudes!, Sexual Content, Suicidal Thoughts, Supernatural Elements, attempted murder of a child
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2019-09-04 22:23:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 39,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16798216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CC_Writes/pseuds/CC_Writes
Summary: There are a great many things to be afraid of in life, but a scant few know of even greater dangers. Of things that stalk, unseen, through the very fabric of reality. Sometimes they're in the cracks of the world, sometimes they stand, imperceptible, right beside you, sometimes they are your best friend, your family, your lover. Sometimes, as Grif knows all too well, they are you.Lovecraftian AU spawned by one of the sketches I did for Sketchtober! (links in ch 1 end notes)





	1. A Child of the Sea and a Child of the Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so, fair warning, this fic is going to hop about a bit along the timeline from season 1 to the end of the Chorus Trilogy. This is because some parts I think are deserving of a proper one shot to explore them which I plan to do later. This fic is all from Grif's pov but I am planning a sequel that is the same events from Simmons' pov. 
> 
> Also when Lovecraft wrote his "Mythos" he never tried to make any of it concrete and encouraged his friends to play around in it so in reality its kind of all over the place, so I'm doing my best to sort it all together into something that's at least consistent while also throwing all the racist elements in the furnace where they belong. 
> 
> As always, chapter specific warnings will be posted in the notes before each chapter. This chapter's warnings include: Attempted Suicide, Attempted murder, attempted murder of a child, suicidal ideation, minor assault of a sexual nature. 
> 
> If there's anything I missed please don't hesitate to let me know so I can add it!
> 
> Lastly I GIGANTIC shout out to PirateLynLyn for being my sounding board and helping me proofread this titan! (yes it IS once again a one shot that got so big I had to admit it needed to be broken into chapters, the whole mass is nearly 75 pages already and still not done lol)
> 
> Fun Lovecraft fact: Howard was afraid of Salads.

_"The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents._

_We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far._

_The sciences, each straining in its own direction, have hitherto harmed us little; but some day the piecing together of_

_dissociated knowledge will open up such terrifying vistas of reality, and of our frightful position therein,_

_that we shall either go mad from the revelation or flee from the deadly light into the peace and safety of a new dark age."_  
_\- H.P. Lovecraft, The Call of Cthulu_

Blood Gulch is hot, dry, and utterly desolate. Grif hated everything about it.

It's perfect.

The armor helped a great deal: it's thermo-regulated. His own little bubble of an environment. If he wanted to, he could set it to be cool and humid. He didn’t. Grif leaves it dry and just shy of uncomfortably warm.

It's bullheaded, stubborn, and probably the only thing he really puts any effort towards. It made him miserable, but it was better than the alternative. Not to say there weren't any slip-ups, moments where things would become so intolerable that something would cause his tentative grip to snap.

But what could you expect really?

* * *

Grif froze abruptly when he pulled the fridge open, a whine of frustration bubbling forth before he could stop it. He intended to grab something like a beer or a soda, maybe even steal one of Sarge's strawberry Yoohoos, he wasn’t expecting this. Right in front, blocking out everything else in the fridge were three plastic bottles of water. Larger than full liter bottles of soda! Enticing, faintly blue, transparent plastic, cheerful label, cheerful logo. The containers, chilled by the fridge, already had condensation forming and sliding tantalizingly down the side, now that it was in contact with the stifling outside air.

Before he was consciously aware he'd done it Grif snatched one of the bottles and tore the cap off. The little bit of plastic bounced away across the faded tile floor, rolling to settle wherever it was going. Meanwhile, the bottle had been upended as he chugged it down, probably too fast. Yeah, much too fast. Some of it spilled out of his mouth and ran in little streams down his throat to be soaked up by the black plasti-ceramic material of his undersuit.

God, it felt so good, so cool, and refreshing. _Blissful_.

Grif chucked the now empty bottle across the room, ignoring its bouncing clatter as he dove back into the fridge for another. It tumbled from his shaking, clumsy fingers as he hissed between his teeth, hands flying up to press against the sides of his neck. Damn it. God damn it! Grif fought not to fall to his knees, not to scramble for the dropped bottle like a mad animal, trying to focus instead on the throbbing, stinging pain lancing in lines along the curve of his jaw and down his neck. If he could just keep reminding himself what that meant, maybe he could fight the nearly overwhelming feeling of suffocation, the desperate desire for more water.

_More. More. More more_ **_more-_ **

"Grif?"

The soft, possibly concerned, call of his name brought the world back into focus. The sight of his still badly shaking hand just millimeters away from the plastic container, spun off on its side against the tiles. Struggling he managed to break his gaze from it, looking up from where he'd apparently dropped to his knees. It was easier to do given who it was.

Simmons' expression was a passive mask, but his eyes held a dizzying amount of conflicting emotions. Grif couldn't look at them for long as his teammate walked towards him. Calmly, cautiously, non-threateningly, like you'd approach a scared animal. Nauseous anger simmered in Grif's chest. Simmons set his helmet beside his on the countertop, bending down to pick up the bottle. Grif almost cried at its loss.

"...You okay?" the redhead asked hesitantly.

"I'm fine," Grif croaked, voice thick and raspy from the abuse his throat had taken not a minute prior. He couldn’t keep his gaze from falling back on the abandoned bottle, "Donut?"

"Yeah," Simmons replied, getting his meaning right away. "He knows he's not allowed to have these. I don't know how he keeps getting ahold of them..."

Probably from the same assholes who'd stationed them here. They **had** to know, there was no way they couldn’t, Grif thought sourly. Silently he accepted Simmons' offered hand, letting himself be hauled to his feet.

"I'm going to have to have another talk with him..." Simmons said, barely audible and full of lethal promise.

"Don't bother," Grif interjected, "he'll get more. Just-" he struggled, "-get rid of them if you see them."

Simmons was silent, Grif could feel his eyes on him, studying him. "Do you want this?" the water bottle was tilted and lightly jostled in indication.

"Yes," Grif said despite himself. He practically ripped it from the other man's hand when he offered it. For a long moment, he stared at it, like an addict stares at a new supply. He tore the cap off and abruptly spun on his heel, upending it over the sink.

He wanted to throw up.

Simmons shifted closer, silently placing a hand on his back, between his shoulders, the one comfort Grif would allow. Almost immediately the tension receded, his muscles relaxed, the pain in his neck, the throbbing in his head, the horrible craving, all faded away, and he felt normal again. Emptying the third and final bottle down the drain was even easier.

It was moments like this that actually made Grif grateful to be on a team with what was probably one of the most unspeakably dangerous creatures to ever set foot on this or any other planet.

* * *

Grif was, as probably everyone in the canyon knew, an avid fan of naps. He could sleep almost anywhere and through almost anything. That didn't mean, however, that he never woke up in the middle of the night. Or at least the time everyone in the canyon seemed to have simultaneously decided was night.

He didn't bother calling out to Simmons when he wandered out onto the base's roof. There wasn't much of a point to that. It would just ruin the rare silence.

The sun was still locked high in the sky, beating down on them miserably, just like always. Grif had found though, that if he cranked up the dimmer and tint on his visor's visual feed that he could make it look like it actually was night, that the sun was just an overly bright moon. It was the only time that he'd allowed his suit's systems to change the environmental settings to something cooler and crisper, just to complete the illusion.

He wondered if Simmons did the same.

His teammate was sitting on the edge of the base, leaning slightly against one of the stone pillars that popped up around the edge every ten feet or so. He was staring out into the canyon, in the direction of Blue Base. Whether that's what he'd actually been looking at or not was up for debate. It was the only direction there was to look out here. Unless you felt like literally staring at the wall...

Grif settled down next to him silently.

"Hey," Simmons murmured in greeting. His voice sounded worn and groggy, probably meant he'd been woken up as opposed to just not being able to sleep. They sat for a few long minutes in comfortable silence. Eventually, Simmons broke it with a question, "Bad dreams?"

"...Mhmm," Grif replied, "You too?"

"Yeah..."

To call them “dreams” wasn't really the right name for what was plaguing the both of them, but it was the safest thing to say, safest thing to admit. He knows that. Simmons knows that.

"Is it because of me?" the maroon armored man asked after another pause, doing a poor job of hiding his self-consciousness. Trust the nerd to feel guilty even about things he couldn't control...

"No," Grif told him and mostly it was true. Simmons wasn't the one responsible for what he saw. His presence probably encouraged some of it though. The inverse might be true for Simmons.

Grif had started having the _'dreams'_ shortly after his mother had abandoned him and his sister. Pitch dark vistas miles under the ocean, where the pressure would kill anything that did not belong there. Soundless voices that called to him, promising peace, glory, everlasting life... and family.

It was only after he'd almost driven his car off the road into the ocean, that he'd realized that he needed to figure out what was up with him. If only for the sake of poor, terrified Kai, trembling and crying in the back seat.

It was a while before he found answers.

"You wanna talk about it?" Simmons asked, startling Grif out of his thoughts, that was okay, he probably wasn’t expecting an answer. They'd come to a silent agreement about that particular question. It was always asked, never really answered. The option was always there though. It took a tremendous amount of pressure off of things.

"No. I'm good. You?"

"Nah, I'm okay."

That was fine. They could both hazard a good guess anyway.

* * *

"Oh damn..." Kai whispered on the private com channel they'd opened.

Grif gave a threatening side eye that his sister couldn't see behind his visor. That didn't stop him though.

"Is that him?" she continued, her gaze undoubtedly locked on Simmons trying to reason with Sarge who was rambling and raving about her sudden addition to their canyon, "It is, isn't it? I _feel_ it! Damn, I've never seen an Elder Spawn before! Dex this is so-!"

"Knock it off," Grif hissed, "I already told you-"

"But _Deeeeex_ ," she whined, "I want him!” her helmet snapped to him, tone turning suspicious, “Wait. Don't you?” Sorry, pardon me? “Oh! Is that what it is? Did he pick you? Did you jump him? Dex- !"

" **Shut up**!" Grif hissed, it must have been more vicious than he'd intended because his sister visibly flinched and said flinch drew Simmons' attention for a brief moment before getting caught back up in the fruitless debate with Sarge.

"Sorry..." Kai wilted.

"No," Grif reassured her, feeling pretty shitty, "I'm sorry. It's not your fault. But, we talked about this before, remember? You absolutely can not bump uglies with somethi- _someone_ , like that."

"I know," it was rare to hear her sound so meek. It made Grif feel awful. It wasn't her fault, it was genetic, and Kai had never once in her life encountered something more... _Outside_ than hybrids like them. She hadn't braced herself and got caught up in the moment, "there's no way to know what their purpose is,” Kai dutifully recited, "and even something like a one night stand could doom everyone and there's no way to prevent a baby."

"Exactly," Grif praised quietly, "I just don't want anything bad to happen to you" he wasn't really one for emotional confessions but in this case it was necessary, and he really did feel bad... "We just have to be careful. Okay?"

"Mhmm..." Kai nodded, slowly perking up. "Speaking of... What's over there?" Grif followed her gaze to the other end of the canyon, to Blue base, "Something over there is **_really_ **gross."

God, she was really sensitive to know already and from this far away. Though to be fair, he'd known not long after arriving here, too. It made his skin crawl. "Yeah. It's something really fucked, whatever it is."

Kai shuddered, "Glad I'm not on that team."

* * *

Once, when he was younger, Grif had contemplated killing himself and Kai.

The thought of it now made him feel ill, but, at the time, it seemed like it might be the most merciful thing to do. Put the poor kid out of her misery and then himself.

Days went by and he kept having slips in his behavior, weird blanking moments where he’d suddenly find himself doing or about to do something… not quite right. Like intrusive thoughts about how tasty and tempting that roadkill looked… or forgetting that he needed to breath in the pool.

His dreams and nightmares got more upsetting, sleep got harder to find and his stress went through the roof. Things only got worse, when Kai started having bad dreams, too. Crying because “mommy” was “singing” to her while she slept then wasn’t there when she woke up, and she wanted to go see her. When Grif reminded her coldly that their _great_ and _loving_ mom had left them all alone, his little sister protested, adamant that she was somewhere nearby in the water. He tried to tell himself it was just her imagination, a poor little girls’ broken heart, left alone by the one person who was always supposed to be there, but he knew that wasn’t true. Even before he found her in the kitchen, eating fish sticks raw and frozen right out of the bag. Before she picked up the habit of biting mean neighbor kids till they bled.

Whatever it was he had, his sister had it, too.

His frantic searches for some explanation as to what was wrong with them had been fruitless, at least as far as medical science was concerned. Nothing matched the symptoms. Even the more extreme types of psychological illness and breakdowns turned up nothing. But then, a desperate attempt at 3 in the morning, slamming a description of the nightmare he'd just woken up from into the search bar, had brought up something new. A scan and translation of a page from some old ass book called ' _The Necronomicon_ '.

That night, Grif had learned about something called a “Deep One”.

Over the next several days he'd scoured the net for any information he could find. All the information that did pop up seemed to be from that same book or from papers that referenced it. Unbelievable as everything was, he knew it was true. Right from the get-go, there was absolutely no question in his mind as to the information's validity.

He learned about the Deep Ones, about Father Dagon, Mother Hydra, the High Priest Cthulhu. He learned what he and his sister were, and what they would eventually become. The horrible things they would do, whether they wanted to or not. How they would either end up snapping eventually and disappear like their mother had, losing whatever self they had left and spending eternity serving the will of those oceanic titans, or, if they were noticed, become a prize for some fucked up cult, used to… breed more like them, or just straight up offered to some extra-dimensional monster. The world, it turned out, was a far more dangerous place than he’d ever imagined, especially when some people thought you were rather valuable.

After several feverish days, doing more research than he'd ever done on anything in his entire life. Shaking, sleep deprived, and on the verge of losing it, Grif had stood over his little sister's bed, a kitchen knife gripped in his hand. He'd nearly done it. It was terrifying, even now, just how close he'd come. What might have happened if she hadn't woken up?

"Dexter?" Kai mumbled groggily, pushing herself up from her pillow to blink owlishly at him, "What are you-?"

Her eyes had grown wide when she'd spotted the knife, sharp edge glinting in the streetlight outside the window. Tears had gathered at the corners of her eyes. "Dex?" she pleaded. A long silence had passed then, the two siblings staring at one another there in the dark. A little sister, just shy of 13, reading a world of information on her brother’s face with the perception of an adult. Then, a strange kind of understanding crossed her features and a forgiving smile appeared on her lips even as her fearful tears started running in little rivers down her cheeks. "Okay," she said. That was all. Just a quiet acceptance, a permission.

Grif felt himself jerk into trembling sobs, vision blurring as he too burst into tears. What was he doing? How could he even _think_ of hurting her? How could he?! HOW COULD HE?! He really was a monster! The knife clanged and clattered as it skittered away across the floor. His knees thudded against the time-worn wood as he collapsed in a wretched heap.

And Kai... Kai, that strikingly kind young girl had gingerly lowered her feet to the floor and padded over to wrap her big brother up in a loving hug. The very person who moments before had been planning to... Planning to kill her.

"What's wrong Dex?" she asked, and he could only hug her tight as he could without hurting her.

He told her everything. Every terrible thing he'd learned about them, what they were, what would happen to them. When he was done her sunshine face had turned pale, he could tell, even in the orange light.

"What do we do?"

He didn't know.

Even after the adrenaline had worn off and he’d finally passed the fuck out, curled up protectively with his little sister on the couch, Grif had been left feeling hollow and restless. So with nothing else he could think to do he’d gone for a walk. Inevitably it brought him to the beach, all the way to the edge of the surf. The restless almost irresistible pull and buzzing in his head, the crawling under his skin, a horrible thirst that worsened by the day. He wanted almost nothing more than to just walk out into the ocean, sink to the bottom, let the water fill his lungs.

A fish returning to where it had been spawned.

In a show of defiance, he sat down on the sand instead, out of reach of the tide that snatched at him.

"You all suck," he blurted, after a time. "This isn't fair! What are we supposed to do?! We don't even get a choice?!" Unsurprisingly the ocean didn't respond to his yelling. Grif hid his face in his knees, refusing to show the tears that were bubbling up again. "I hate you. You didn't care about us when you were here and none of _them_ give a shit about us either."

A sound broke the quiet lapping of water on the sand, a scraping sliding sound. Grif jerked up in surprise, far off in the surf he thought, for a moment, he saw something. A dark shape with something like eyes, wide and unblinking, glinting and glowing in the moonlight. He started with a frightened cry, falling back on the sand. By the time he'd pushed himself up the shape was gone, but down by his splayed foot, sunk partially in the wet sand was a little bundle. What it was made of Grif was never able to determine. It looked like vellum, felt like metal, and behaved like plastic. On top was carved or embossed or stamped some kind of mark or shape or something. It looked like three even lines intersecting with a longer main line, like a weird tree branch. Inside...

Grif had nearly dropped it. His mouth gaped open, struggling for words he couldn't find. Wrapped carefully in the parcel was GOLD! Various chains and pendants, thin elaborately decorated bangles, and a grotesquely designed tiara of all things! The designs on it were stomach turning, depicting all manner of hideous hybrid sea creatures doing equally unpleasant things; all done up in the shining metal and set with pearls and water smoothed precious stones.

He'd clutched the bundle tight to himself and ran home as fast as he could. This was probably the only 'help' they'd ever get from them, from _her_ , that didn't involve dragging them screaming into the surf anyway. If he sold these... they'd have enough money to leave, set up somewhere else, as far from the ocean as they could go.

He'd have to be careful... Selling to a pawn shop was out of the question: they'd get too little for it, and it would be suspicious as hell. The same thing went for a museum. Best thing to do would be to auction it off online a bit at a time. Be smart about the price: high enough to show he knew what it was worth, but not so high to show he knew what it was. Online payment only and he'd send it with no return address. Would take a while, but he could do it. They could escape.

They could be free!

* * *

"Come ooooooon!" Kai whined, sprawled out on Grif’s bed, wiggling her armored feet in the air like a child throwing a tantrum. "Just let me stay here tonight!" She pouted and sulked as her brother glared down at her, arms crossed, "I don't wanna go back to Blue base. It’s not so bad during the day, but it's so creepy at night! And that _thing_ \- no offense." She looked sheepishly over at Simmons, squirreled away in a corner of his own bed on the other side of the room.

"None taken," Simmons sighed, peeking hesitantly over the datapad he was reading.

"Anyway," Kai continued without missing a beat, "that thing is so gross. I hear it walking around all night! I don't think it even sleeps! And it reeks! I don't know how no one notices!"

"Kai-" Grif started.

"And!" she interrupted, bolting upright, she paused and actually looked away for a moment, discomfort radiating off her in waves, "Last night it stood in front of my door for **three hours** . Just standing there! Until its ' _keeper_ ' came to get it. I don't think she sleeps either..."

Grif's stomach rolled and a chill sank its claws into his back.

"You can stay," Simmons quiet voice caught him off guard, even Kai looked surprised, "You can sleep in my bed if you promise not to mess it up. I'll sleep on the couch in the rec room."

Grif opened his mouth to... say something, but his words failed him.

"You'd do that?" Kai asked, tone uncertain maybe even a little worried. It was an uncomfortable contrast to the flippant and confident way she normally spoke. Was it because Simmons was what he was? Everything they’d ever read or been told about Elder Spawn didn’t exactly suggest that they’d be generous towards hybrids like them, not unless they expected something in return. Something you didn’t want to give. Nerd was a weird one for sure. Probably.

"It’s no trouble," Simmons emphasized, flustered and near stammering, "I don't want to make things weird or uncomfortable! It's probably kind of unpleasant to even be in the same room with me, and after what happened it’s only logical that you'd be freaked out!"

"Oh! No!" Kai, chirped, normal bravado returning, "You're way better to be around! Totally normal! You don't even stink!" Simmons sputtered and turned another shade of red. Grif felt a bit better seeing that. "Like I haven't ever seen something- uh _someone_ like you before! So I don't know if you're the normal one or the weirdo, I just know that other guy is creepy as fuck, and you're not!" she grinned at her brother, "Right, Dex?"

Grif almost choked on his own tongue, "Uh... Yes..?"

Simmons hid behind his pad again. "T-thanks!" he squeaked.

In the end, Simmons did not sleep in the rec room. A hurried and quiet, semi squabble between the Grif siblings ended with Kai using her brother's bed and him sleeping on the floor. At his insistence actually which seemed to surprise Simmons. Of course, since Simmons was an only child, he wouldn't know the intricacies of being an older sibling. Things seemingly settled, Kai had bombarded Simmons with any questions she seemed to think she could get away with. To Grif's surprise, he did his best to answer them. Even more to his surprise, when Kai once again expressed her reluctance to go back to Blue base in the morning, the redhead seemed to ponder something.

"Grif?" when both siblings turned expectantly towards him he clarified with a slightly awkward stammer, "Uh, Dexter," Grif in no way felt his face heat up at hearing his first name, "do you have a marker or a pen? All I have are styluses."

Grif furrowed his brow, "I guess I do...?"

"Can I use it for a second?"

Uncertainty warred with curiosity and in the end, Grif did fish out an old felt tipped pen from somewhere in the depths of his mostly unkempt dresser. Simmons made a slightly disgusted face when he tossed it to him. Oh, so sorry it wasn't pristine and sparkling clean your majesty.

"Okay, G- uh, Kaikaina, could you come over here and just uh, turn around? Like once completely around?" Simmons hesitantly asked, glancing at Grif as though to assure him that he wasn't going to do anything funny.

"Uh, sure, gray guy." Kai hopped of her brother's bed and went to stand in front of Simmons as he stood up from his own. "Is this like... Something weird?" she asked, turning slowly around. Grif did his best to quash his irritably and protective anger that popped up when it came to looking out for his sister. Simmons was a good guy, he wouldn't do anything creepy: the guy could barely talk to girls anyway.

Simmons flushed in embarrassment. Yup, just like that. "No! I'm just looking for the best place to put this!"

"Like a sex thing?" Both Grif and Simmons made unintelligible sputtering sounds while Kai snickered, "Cuz, you know, I _might_ be into that, but you gotta tell me what it is. Consent is sexy, you know!"

"No!" Simmons squeaked, if he turned any redder he just might pass out, "A place to put the Elder Sign!" He coughed in embarrassment and regained control of the volume of his voice, "To protect you…? "The blush returned in earnest when he realised what he’d said, “Not like _me_ protecting you, I mean! The sign! It’s a ward, you know! Just that there’s very real danger and no one deserves to be stalked like that and, umm… yeah…” He hid his face in his hands with a groan and Grif rolled his eyes. If it were anyone else he might have been worried, but Simmons was the kind of guy who could sabotage himself with no problem. Still… An Elder Sign, huh?

"Oh," Kai chirped in surprise, ignoring the redhead’s minor meltdown, "Really? You know how to do one? One that works?" She furrowed her brow, "We tried before but it didn't work, at least I don't think it did."

"It's finicky," Simmons said, quietly motioning for her to stop turning. "It's all about the angles. If it’s off even by a little, it won't work. It's a huge pain, especially to do it by hand. Most people find the star version easier to do but it's not nearly as effective as the original."

Kai hummed in understanding, sharing a pointed look with her brother. Damn... Guess that was why it hadn't really done anything the few times they tried it. Thankfully it wasn't too many times, but still. He’d used the star one, five point shape with a crude eye in the middle, the other one had looked simpler but everyone on the sites he checked seemed to agree is was nigh impossible to get right.

"Uh," Simmons started, embarrassment evident. "Best place is probably here on your back. It will keep it hidden, so they won't know you, uh, know. Could you-" he cursed under his breath, “Just take off your chest plate?"

Kai smiled devilishly, "Well all you had to do was ask." She giggled and ducked with practiced ease when Grif threw his pillow at her.

Simmons caught it with an unamused but still flushed face, "Could we maybe **not**?"

Still snickering, Kai made short work of her chest and back armor, settling on Simmons bed cross-legged to the tall man’s grumbling displeasure, “You still have your boots ooooon…”. The redhead stood behind her and popped the seals on the back of her undersuit. His face started to lose a bit of its flush when he popped the cap off the pen and became more focused on his work.

"Try not to move if you can," he told her. "Shouldn't take too long. It's easier once you know exactly how to do it. Doesn't hurt if you're... Uh... Like me," he finished awkwardly, doing that lip biting thing when he was trying to dance around a topic that made him uncomfortable.

Grif moved from where he had been, by his own bed, to lean against the wall closest to the foot of Simmons’ bed. It offered the best angle so he could see both his sister and his teammate. This way at least he could keep track of what Simmons was doing. He was protective, okay? All things considered, he had good reason to be. He wanted to believe, he really really did, that nothing bad would happen. Realistically speaking, even if he ignored the fact that personality wise Simmons just wasn’t like that, there was no reason for Simmons to have waited this long to do something to them. But still, at times like this everything he’d ever read about Elder beings and crap bounced around in his head: from comments by anthropologists who thought it was a myth, to supposed survivors of encounters, to super creepy wanna be cultists. All the things that could go wrong, all the ways he or in this case Kai, could be pulled apart and remade, enslaved, or annihilated. So he’s just… keeping an eye on things. Okay?  
  
Grif’s expression scrunched in mild confusion when to his surprise, his teammate raised the pen and touched it to his tongue. By his face, it seemed it didn't taste very good, but without pausing he drew to draw the lines of the sign on his sister's back, up between her shoulder blades. What had he done that for? Was it like…did it make it work better? Because he was what he was? Or was this some part of making these things that he’d somehow missed out on? Was that why his own attempts at wards had always been crap? He kind of wanted to ask, probably not a good idea to do it now though, what if it distracted Simmons and caused him to mess up and Kai ended up, like, inside out or something!?

He made a mental note to ask later.

"Have you practiced this a lot?" Kai piped up after a short time.

Grif nearly choked on the irritated groan he swallowed down. God damn it! He’d _just_ been thinking about not being a distraction! Didn’t his sister have any fucking sense!?

"Yeah," Simmons replied, "This and plenty of others. I'm really good with formulae and angles and stuff. Languages, too."

"Is that, like, part of your purpose?"

Grif bit his lip hard enough to taste copper, his previously relaxed fingers digging hard into the arms of his suit. God damn it, Kai! You can't just ask that!

"Huh?" Simmons paused, his expression was hard to decipher. For a moment his eyes had widened in surprise but had settled into something else almost immediately. He didn’t seem upset, more... not sad but oddly passive? Did that mean it wasn’t a touchy subject? Grif had always gotten the feeling he shouldn’t ask but...

"My brother told me that people like you always have a _'purpose'_. Is this, like, part of yours?"

Kai, shut up!

"Oh, uh, no. I uh... I don't have a purpose." Simmons said quietly, he was… smiling? A small one, it didn’t quite reach his eyes though. Still, none? Was that really true? Was it even possible?

"Oh," Yeah, idiot. You get it now, don't you? "Sorry."

"It's okay," Simmons replied, half shrugging as he put the cap back on the pen, as though the revelation was as unimportant as being told the weather. From where he stood, Grif could see the faint outline of a shape. Oh, was that all? Did having an outline work better than a solid shape or-? Simmons' expression went suddenly to devastating embarrassment and shutting his eyes tight he suddenly leaned down and pressed his lips quickly to the center of the shape.

Grif jerked up from the wall at the same time Kai squeaked in shock.   
  
"The _fuck-_?!" he started angrily, cutting himself off when he saw the mark. No longer a rough outline, instead it was completely filled in: a pitch dark black that reflected no light. What was even more off-putting was that it seemed to be perfectly visible, perfectly flat, no matter what way he turned his head.

Oh... That **was** different.

"I'll, um... I'll go take a shower while you two figure out sleeping arrangements or whatever!" Simmons babbled, scrambling for an excuse to leave. His ability to function around other people completely maxed out, "I'll make one on a piece of paper for you in the morning, you can put it in your room to keep them out when you aren't there!"  
  
Grif waited until Simmons made a hasty retreat, then moved over to his sister, who hadn't moved yet. In fact, she seemed to be lost in thought.   
  
"Kai?" he called gently. "Sis?"   
  
She jumped a little when he settled a hand on her shoulder, "Huh? Oh. Hey."   
  
"Are you alright?"   
  
Kai hummed almost dreamily, "Yeah, I'm fine." She suddenly twisted around and flung her arms around his middle, hugging him tightly, "Sorry," she laughed. "I really am fine. It just... It feels good. It’s like," her face scrunched up in concentration as she tried to figure out how to explain it, "It's like when we had that hurricane back home that one time? When you let me hide under the blankets with you? Or when I got lost at the circus and you found me? Or when I went to a party for the first time after we moved and I made new friends?" She smiled. "It feels like that."   
  
"You're sure that's all?" He didn't mean to be so paranoid; he really didn't. Simmons was a lot of things, had a lot of flaws, but Grif couldn't see him doing anything to his sister. Nothing malicious anyway. It was just almost a lifetime of worrying about her and himself, learning what some people might want from them, what use they might have.

“Mmmhm…” His sister nodded.

Grif sighed, “Okay then,” he affectionately patted her wild hair, “Don’t think this means you can go do dumb shit now. If you get knocked up with an apocalypse baby, I’m going to kick your ass.”  
  
Kai laughed.

  
  
Grif wondered once why creatures like the Deep Ones didn’t just overrun the planet. Why they only came up to create hybrids like them, and only in small pockets. Their cities were well hidden, down deep under the ocean and tectonic stone, their places of worship, most well-kept secrets, all in places that humans hadn’t laid eyes on in millennia. They lived seemingly forever, though they could be killed, and they had easily overwhelming numbers. When he'd learned about the... other things that were out there, and how they... "kept lesser creatures in check" then he understood. What good was a hybrid to normal humans, if not as a way to find their sires or an offering to be enslaved, dominated, or consumed by an elder being or their spawn?   
  
But Simmons wouldn't do that. Not on purpose.   


* * *

In all honesty? Grif feels bad for creatures like Simmons. No, really, he does. Despite the very real, very much unknowable danger they represent, they got the shit end of the stick in the grand scheme of things.   
  
See, things like him and Kai? They're born. Same way as anyone else.

For him, it's simple, when a half fish lady meets a human guy for a one night stand? Tada! Baby fish boy!  
  
Something like Simmons? They're not born. They're _made_ .   
  
If you want an Elder Spawn... well, then you need all kinds of preparations and formulas, the right time, the right alignment of this that and the other thing, the right books, invocations, chants, location, offerings and sacrifices, and on and on and on. And of course, the right woman, preferably willing, though not essentially so... to gestate the thing.   
  
Its oddly bureaucratic in a sick kind of way.   
  
But yeah. That's why he feels bad for them. He's just unlucky, they're straight up **fucked** .   


This would not be the first time Simmons had an 'attack'. It’s certainly the most inconvenient time though.  
  
They were out on "patrol" and Grif puts that in the most powerful of quotations because even Simmons can't pretend they're actually doing anything worthwhile here. He still tries though. It'd be almost admirable if it wasn't so sad.   
  
They were about at the midpoint of the canyon, just sort of milling about when Simmons had frozen mid-step. Totally stock still. Like the term, 'stop on a dime' completely applied here. He'd made a kind strangled sound, that, while horribly mangled, had sounded an awful lot like, "Father". On reflex, Grif had reached out and caught his teammate as his long legs buckled. Then practically dragged him behind a nearby boulder, the only semi-safe place he could think of.   
  
"Simmons?" he pressed. "Dude, talk to me. What do I do?"   
  
Simmons weakly gestured dismissively with one hand before returning to the position he'd adopted: doubled over with his arms pressed tight to his abdomen. "Nothing," his voice was rough and strained, odd to the ears, like it was being made with different organs than normal. "I just- **fuck** \- just need to wait it out. Its, um- he- _n'gai-_ he turned his face to us."   
  
Oh... Still didn't know what that meant exactly. Simmons didn't make much sense when he was like this anyway, it was usually way worse on average. Like that time Grif found him curled up in the bathroom, mumbling to himself, surrounded by bloody bits of broken mirror. Or when Grif had woken up in the middle of the night to Simmons just standing over his bed humming some unknown tune. So at least this time was… better?   
  
Before Grif could do much else though he was struck with a sudden fleeting... feeling? Sound? But not really? Something like wind or nonsensical flute playing, the giggling of half-mad children, the lamenting of the tortured damned. He jumped up, whirling around, only to duck down again with a shriek as a bullet cracked the rock a scant few inches from him. It had been long enough though to catch the smattering of bright _blue_ colors against the dull, dead browns of the canyon.   
  
" _Fuck_ -! I mean- That was just a warning shot Reds!"   
  
"Wow, dude, your aim fucking sucks."   
  
"Shut the hell up, Tucker!"   
  
Well. Fuck him then.   
  
"What do you assholes want?!" Grif snipped back over the rock.   
  
"Could ask you that, Red!" Tucker taunted, "You and your _boyfriend_ couldn't wait till you got back to your base?"   
  
"Oh fuck you!" Grif snapped, trying to think of a way to get out of this mess.   
  
"That's what your sister said!" the Blue crowd. "So I did! Bow-Chicka-Wow- _Wowoooooah_ !" his mocking left off in a shrill shriek as a bullet blew a hole right next to his foot, kicking up a cloud of dust, "Hey, fuck you, you fat fuck!"   
  
"Nice vocabulary. You must be proud." Simmons croaked from beside Grif.   
  
The Orange soldier smiled inside his helmet. Simmons must not be doing too bad if he could snark. It also made him feel a bit better that Simmons was ticked off at Tucker's comment, too, though likely for a bit of a different reason. All the same, it was nice to know at the very least that his teammate didn't like the idea of his sister being hounded or harassed by this asshole.   
  
"Fuck’s wrong with you?" Tucker murmured in mild confusion over the open channel. "You sound like you're gonna throw up or like you're taking a shit!"   
  
"Maybe he's gonna croak all on his own?" Church joined in. "Don't know why you're sticking your neck out for him Grif! You should just take off! We'll put him out of your misery!"   
  
Tucker laughed.   
  
"Better yet!" Church mused, "You could just surrender! If you're a really _good_ boy and don't piss on the floor, maybe we'll let you join our team!"   
  
"Uh... Dude?" Tucker chimed in uneasily.   
  
"Red Team clearly doesn't know how to handle _something_ like you," Blue Team's self-proclaimed leader's voice took on a tone that made Grif's skin want to crawl off his body. "Total lack of discipline. It’s a complete waste, but I know how to make use of you."   
  
"Dude," Tucker hissed, "What the fuck?"   
  
Presumably the ‘ _clunk_ ’ of Tucker hitting Church rang out over the radio joined by Church’s shriek, "Oww! What?! It's called intimidation! Don't you know anything, Tucker!?"   
  
"It was pretty creepy, dude."   
  
"No more than anything you fucking say!"   
  
Grif rolled his eyes as the Blues squabbled, glad at least that Church's words had switched back to their default ignorance. He had enough of that to last the rest of his life thanks. Felt like he needed to scrub himself clean with steel wool...   
  
The unease started to creep back when he heard them discussing if they should rush the rock and kill them or just wait until one of them made a break for it and pick them off. For a second he swore he heard that piping, laughing, screaming, whatever it was, again.

  
Shit... What should he do? Fuck!   
  
There was a momentary slip in the static from the radio and his HUD showed that Simmons had switched their connection from public to private. His breathing was still labored, but, glancing at him, Simmons pulled himself upright more. He was still leaning against the rock for support, but, he seemed more… in the now? That was good right?   
  
Simmons' shakily moved a hand from his stomach, tapping weakly at the storage compartment at Grif's hip. There was something pleading about the gesture that made Grif feel he really should do what the other man wanted and open it. What was in here? Something important? He couldn't remember…. He never really kept track of this kind of stuff. Unless it was snacks.

He reached inside.  
  
Suddenly, he became aware that Simmons was murmuring something softly under his breath.   
  
_"Ygnaiih... Ygnaiih... thflthkh’ngha..."_   
  
What was that? The language held a weird familiarity, but Grif was positive he’d never heard it before and fuck if he knew what any of it meant. He shook his head slightly against a sensation of dizziness. No. More. A feeling like... like the world was a song that had glitched and skipped a beat for just a moment?   
  
His hand dipped into the pouch and came back... with a grenade?   
  
But, he wasn't carrying any-   
  
He nearly jumped when Simmons' hand settled on his shoulder, his visor was turned towards him but Grif was sure that he wasn't actually looking at him. The words he'd been muttering before were still just as quiet, but clearer, stronger.   
  
_"Ygnaiih. Ygnaiih. thflthkh’ngha..."_ _  
_   
The Orange soldier blinked slowly, a dreamlike warmth spreading over him, the touch to his shoulder at its epicenter. Without hesitating in the slightest, he popped the pin.   
  
_"N’gai, n’gha’ghaa, bugg-shoggog, y’hah;_ **_Yog-Sothoth_ ** ."   
  
Not even sparing a backward glance, Grif lobbed the grenade. A few seconds later the canyon echoed with a cracking **BOOM** , joined by the shrieks of the two Blues rising up into the air, then back down, followed by a pair of loud thuds.   
  
Grif risked peeking from behind their safety boulder™. A grin spread across his face as he caught sight of Church and Tucker booking it back towards their base, suits smeared with dirt and black char. Ha! Served them right!   
  
Grif's expression faltered when he turned back though. Simmons took off his helmet and leaned his head back against the stone. He drew in deep breaths, far less labored than before. He was drenched in sweat that ran in slowly drying trails down his skin, flattening his normally defiant red hair to his skull. His face was alarmingly pale, the sea of freckles standing out all the more, but he was slowly regaining color. What bothered Grif the most though was the trail of dark blood dripping out of his nose. Unable to stop the sudden fearful impulse, he leaned closer, hand cupping the side of his teammate's face so he could carefully wipe the blood away with his thumb.   
  
He froze when Simmons eyes snapped open and fixed on him in surprise. A blush struggled to form.   
  
"I, um..." Oh boy, this was not good! He was touching Simmons’ face! Grif snatched his hand back like he’d been burned. "What did you do to me?" Oh thank god! Yes, thank you! Just change the topic!   
  
"Nothing," Simmons said, slightly breathless.   
  
"Then how the fuck did I make that throw!?"   
  
"Because you can," Simmons replied, listlessly. "I just... Made sure you knew that?"   
  
Grif gaped at him.   
  
"Sorry... I'm tired. A bit mixed up... I think..."   
  
Reluctantly, Grif let it go, not prodding or commenting as he helped when the redhead’s hands proved to be too shaky to get his helmet back on a few minutes later. He didn't say anything either when Simmons more or less fell asleep on his feet, and Grif had to toss an arm around his waist and lead him in the right direction back to base.   
  
Later when he checked the storage compartment on his armor it was full to the brim with snack bars.

There was no way a grenade had fit in there.  


* * *

  
Red team had its flaws. Oh good god, did they. Refusing to talk about things was one of them. That suited Grif just fine though.

He had more than enough emotional stress just reading about this shit. It was absolutely essential to know everything he could so that he and his sister wouldn't get snatched up by some cult or be bound into worship by some old ass god thing or its fucked up spawn. Yeah, he would love never having to talk about that or anything else serious ever again, thank you very much!  
  
Better than being on Blue team.   
  
See the Blues might love their touchy-feely drama bullshit, but they were also dense as fuck.   
  
Like, they had no idea, any of them, what they were. And that was absolutely insane. How could they not!? He knew! The second he'd touched down he knew! He'd never even encountered an Elder Spawn before Simmons and he'd thought that was a wild fucking ride. Like thinking you smell a delicious cake and rounding the corner to find out that cake was actually made of broccoli and **then** realizing the broccoli was actually a _bear_ made out of angry wolverines and knives! But that was um… A whole story in itself, so yeah. Back to Church! Simmons had been weird, but oh no no no! This?! This! Was ten kinds of fucked.   
  
Tucker, he knew upon meeting. An accidental literal bumping into each other while on patrol, back when Grif had still had fucks to give. Right away he could tell the guy wasn't entirely human. He wasn't like him exactly…. He gave off a more... like a different vibe? Grif had actually been shocked enough that he'd lowered his gun with a stupid, "Uh...?". Tucker had no such qualms though and the whole thing went to shit really quick and ended with Grif scampering back to base with several bullets to dig out of his armor and a gash in his arm to be treated by an unexpectedly fussy Simmons.   
  
Grif actually scraped up the nerve to hesitantly ask just what the fuck the (at the time) default Blue soldier's deal was, on the grounds that Simmons should know because "well, you're a... you know." Instead of eating him or scattering his atoms into seven different dimensions or whatever it was these things did, Simmons had glared at him petulantly, sighed, and told him that Tucker was probably a child of Yig.   
  
So the, now teal, Blue was a snake person, who had no fucking clue he was a snake person. Even after he'd birthed _AN ACTUAL ALIEN LIZARD BABY_ . How fucking dense!? How!? What kind of drugs was Tucker on and could he have some, please!?   
  
Maybe the guy was just bonkers?   
  
He wasn't as bad as Church though. Whatever was up with him, Grif did not want to know! Church was what Grif had... sensed or whatever when he first touched down, and Kai's reaction later only proved it wasn't some sudden new sensitivity caused by meeting Simmons, and making some part of him “expand” or change as a result of being exposed to extradimensional spooky bullshit. A looming presence like how the pressure gets fucked before a storm hits? Simmons had been something new and weird and not… great? But kind of what Grif had sort of expected based on stuff he’d read? This was more, toxic, gross, _splintered_ .   
  
Church was... _broken_ . That was the only way to describe it. Broken and sick and wrong.   
  
He **ALSO** had no idea what he was and that fucking blew Grif's mind because, okay! If you were a hybrid and never changed and somehow scooted around never ever, _ever_ , meeting someone like you, maybe then you'd never figure it out. That was the biggest 'if' ever though. In the case of Simmons and Church, there was absolutely no way you couldn't know. Not a one. They were born already changed, as opposed to changing later like a hybrid. they’d have had to learn to hide it. Not to mention having actual “powers” gifted by their inhuman parent, seeing things others couldn’t, so on and so on. But somehow, _some fucking how_ , Church was clueless. Pair that together with his Ghoul keeper, oh no, I’m sorry, _ex-girlfriend_ , and whatever the holy hell her crazy ass deal was, and you’d have to be lobotomized not to notice something was up.

The people who set up this stupid maybe not a war had to know. They had to, it was just too much of a coincidence. Too much of an impossibility for it to not be on purpose.

"This fucking sucks."

"Mhmm," Grif murmured, doing his best to tune the Blue out.

"Hey, assholes!" Church shouted through their cell’s barrier, a nearly transparent film of blueish energy that separated them from freedom. "You gonna let us out!? It’s boring as fuck in here!"

Grif rolled his eyes behind his visor. Yeah sure, okay, that would work. Surely any moment now the guards would let them out and apologize for the unpleasant stay.

Church huffed and plopped down on the bed, well, cot... bench? Yeah, more a bench. Not nice enough to be a cot.

Whatever. Didn't matter to him, not one bit. He was just gonna stay over here in the opposite corner near the exit and take a nap. Someone would come for them sooner or later. Maybe, Sarge. All butthurt that a Red had shamed them by getting captured. Maybe Simmons. Guy seemed to have his back, most of the time at least...

"Or maybe he's just worried about losing his _pet_?"

Grif's helmet whipped around, startled from the beginnings of doze. On the other side of the room Church was staring at him, his posture more relaxed than before. His voice had held an unnatural amount of amusement.

_Shit_.

"Come now," the off-kilter Blue chided. "No comment? No snarky remark?"

Grif shrugged stiffly, "Why bother? I don't care what you have to say."

"Oh you don't?" The entity crossed one leg regally over the other. Even sitting on a shitty bench in a jail cell he somehow made it look like a throne. "Not even a little?" He tisked. "We'll be in here a while, it's terribly boring. The least you could do is entertain me."

Grif bristled, "If you hate it so much why don't you just leave?"

"Where would the fun be in that?" When Grif refused to reply, 'Church', or whoever he was right now, sighed dramatically, "How disappointing. You'd entertain your... Simmons, if he were here." He pouted, "What a waste he's making of you. He hasn't trained you in the slightest. You should know how to obey your masters."

"I'm not a dog!" The heavy set Red snapped, rising to the bait and regretting it immediately.

"No," the Blue agreed, tone calm and cold, and suddenly more oppressive than it had a right to be. "You're just a fish. A pretty little thing, to be kept in a bowl to show off to company and eaten when you lose your charm. Not much else you're good for if there aren't more of you."

"I'm a human."

"Of course you are," the other creature laughed. "You say that with such conviction like you're proud to have that in your blood."

Grif narrowed his eyes, "And you say that like you're not one, too."

"I'm not," the cobalt figure chuckled. "Oh, this broken little disaster is, certainly. But he's more..." not Church actually put a finger to his 'mouth' in mock contemplation. "You know how zookeepers will use a hand puppet to raise animals so they don't scare them? It’s like that."

Grif felt sick, "Then if you're not Church, who are you anyway?"

"I am him in a sense," the figure admitted. "Not in any sense you'd understand of course. And shame on you for not even knowing my name. There are so many to choose from!" Playfully 'Church' hopped to his feet, slowly stalking the short distance like a predatory cat. "The Crawling Chaos? The Black Man of the Woods? Genkins? Or you can call me by my true name! _Nyar-_ "

Grif frantically switched off his radio, slapping his hands over his 'ears' for good measure. Anything that eager to share its name he wanted no part of!

**_You really are no fun..._ **

Grif jerked at the voice in his head, sounding like Church, sounding like himself, sounding like everyone he ever knew.

The 'voice' chuckled, **_You put on such a brave and defiant face, but you're just as frightened and fragile as any other of your_** **_kind._**

"Why are you doing this?" Grif hissed, trying to keep his voice from shaking.

"I told you. Because I'm bored. If I must suffer this sad, broken, _fragmented,_ little puppet then at the very least I will amuse myself."

"Why are you so interested in me then?"

Church's helmet loomed closer, nearly touching his, reflection upon reflection cascading in the shining gold surface, "Bold of you to assume I'm interested in you at all." Church chided gently, like one would address a child. "It has nothing to do with you specifically. There's nothing remotely special about you. I am interested, however, in that you are here, and I don't **have** you. That's all."

Grif suppressed a sickened shudder.

"Part of it, too, I suppose is just petty revenge. Did you think I wouldn't notice your sister? What you allowed your Simmons to do?" The man leaned even closer and Grif had to brace himself so he didn't fall over. "You put up quite the facade I imagine. Grumbled and complained? But, you were relieved weren't you? You know full well that any mark you drew, no matter how perfect, wouldn't stop me. One drawn by him though..." The cobalt helmet tilted curiously, the metallic ceramic brushing against Grif's own in a travesty of a nuzzle. "Do you know, I wonder, _who_ he is? Who his _father_ is? Did he tell you? Did you _guess_?" His helmet moved to the side, without them on he'd be whispering in Grif's ear. A hand touched his chest plate, "Do you want to know?"

Grif stiffened, he'd been so focused on what Church-that-wasn't-Church-that-was-Church was saying he hadn't noticed how much he'd moved. He was all but pinned under the other man now. Legs over and beside legs, a hand bracing against his chest, the other propped on the floor. All of it a mockery of a tender or teasing lover.

Grif fought against trembling, body frozen in fear.

"I could tell you," the other man offered, nuzzling the mouthpiece of his helmet grotesquely along the jaw of the other man's, chuckling when Grif flinched away. "I know quite a lot of things you might find useful. Like the purpose of this farcical canyon. Why you're here. Things about your precious Simmons, I know all about him. I bet you're dying to know. How he was made? Who made him? ...what his **purpose** is?" Grif stiffened at the comment. He had always wondered, was curious despite himself, "It's not free mind you," his cellmate crooned. "I do demand a price."

"Bet its a fair one," Grif snapped sourly, doing his best to be defiant despite the position he was in.

"Exceptionally fair," came the sinister reply. "It’s whatever you value most for any secret you desire? You won't find a better bargain."

What he valued most? Absolutely not! As though he'd sacrifice Kai-

"No, not your whore of a sister," Church laughed. "That's not what you value most. I know what that is though. It's your greatest desire. Your greatest fear. The only thing worth wanting. That conflict is just about the only thing of value you possess." A hand settled on his thigh, "I could give you this, too..."

Grif thrashed, lashing out, his fist impacted awkwardly with the cobalt helmet, the sound was immensely satisfying though, as his oppressor reeled away from him. Grif freed one of his legs and kicked out with all his strength, the enhancements in the armor responded to his movement, and the blow sent Church tumbling across the small room.

Fear started to twist around Grif's spine as the Blue slowly began to laugh where he lay on the cell floor. A cold sweat broke out all over him as he realized how dangerous the thing he'd just done was. He’d just attacked an Elder Spawn! Worse! A weird fucked up and either totally crazy or possessed or both one! Shit... _Shit shit shit shit shit!_ He was going to fucking die!

"Now that's more like it!" Church crowd, body bending unnaturally as he hauled himself from his sprawled position to standing in a single movement. "It’s so much more exciting when you fight back!"

As he turned slowly towards him, Grif felt himself be shoved back against the wall by an unseen force.

"It would be so easy," Church continued, walking in slow languid steps back towards his victim, "to just reach inside your silly little head and just make you admit it. Make you be obedient. But that's no fun... It’s so boring Dexter," the pressure on his armor increased, he could hear it groan threateningly under the strain. "Day in and day out in this shit hole of a canyon in the middle of nowhere. These little gnats, who **dare** to try and tether me to this pathetic and shattered little shell."

Church's hand raised imperceptibly and the pressure spread to Grif's skull, pressing him harder into the concrete wall, he could hear it cracking.

The Elder Being loomed above him, " **_Entertain me_ **."

" **Church**!"

The enemy soldier staggered suddenly, limbs twitching and shuddering. For an instant, Grif thought they might suddenly bend the wrong way, "Shame... Seems our game is over... Though it's too bad. Looks like Wyoming doesn't get to join the fun after all." He looked out of the cell, bounced oddly on his heels, and swung his head towards his Orange-clad companion. "I think they found us! Finally, we can get the fuck out of here!" Church cheered, back to sounding like himself.

"Yeah... Guess so." Grif replied. Cautiously, pulling himself slowly to his feet, watching as a black-clad figure rounded the corner.

"Tex!" Church chattered in delight. "I knew you'd bust us out eventually,” he coughed and feigned disinterest. "Not that we needed you or anything. We were just about to break out on our own!"

Tex surveyed the two of them, her gaze lingered on Grif for just a moment too long, "Uh huh, I'm sure you were..."

Grif booked it as soon as they left the building, grabbing the nearest warthog and driving until he made it back to Red base. He shrugged off Sarge's questions about where he'd been, slipped out of Donut's tearful embrace, lamenting about what a terrible time it must have been. He even brushed off Simmons who looked surprised to see him, like he was expecting things to play out some other way. Grif made a crack about having been hardened in his prison stay and the tension broke when Simmons rolled his eyes and pointed out that he could only have been imprisoned for a couple of hours at most. So things were back to normal.

Totally normal.

Grif stood awkwardly in the doorway to his and Simmons' bunk. His teammate was reading, as he generally was, and ignored him for a few minutes. Eventually, he seemed to realize that Grif wasn't going to come in and looked up at him.

"Yes?" he asked, annoyance on the surface failing to mask the curiosity underneath.

"Huh?" Grif hummed, surprised by the sudden question despite his behavior prompting it.

"Did you... need something? Or...?" Simmons trailed off waiting for a reply.

"I, uh," Grif stopped and restarted at least twice before groaning in frustration and finally coming the rest of the way in, pointedly keying the door to lock as it slid closed behind him. "Look," he tried, stalking over to Simmons' bunk, "I need a... I need you to do something for me."

Simmons blinked in confusion, looking from the door to Grif, setting his data pad down and sitting more upright in his bed, "Oh, uh, guess that depends on what it is.” His eyes narrowed in suspicion, “I'm not going to do your chores for you if that's what this is about!"

Grif shot him a sulky look, "No, and you do those anyway."

Simmons stammered an irritated and nonsensical reply which Grif staunchly ignored, choosing instead to shuffle awkwardly in front of his teammate. Finally collecting himself enough to notice his discomfort, Simmons quickly switched to concern. It was kind of dizzying how fast he could snap from one emotion to another, honestly.

"Is something wrong? What did you need?"

Grif felt his face heat up in embarrassment, "Remember that ward you did for my sister?" Simmons nodded. "I need one of those," he finished hurriedly.

"Did something happen?" his teammate queried, quickly his red brows furrowed in a mix of worry and mild anger, "What did he do?"

Grif shuffled again in discomfort, his left hand went unconsciously to his ear, rubbing at it as though it could wipe away the phantom feeling crawling over his skin. "Uh... I um..." he felt so small suddenly, so pathetic. He hated it.

"May I see?" Simmons asked quietly, setting his tablet aside.

Grif faltered. On the one, he could just tell him, not necessarily every detail, just a general vague answer, but that would mean talking about it though…. Or he could let Simmons do whatever he was planning to do and not have to say anything,but that would mean letting his bunkmate do spooky Old God shit to him, and he'd had quite the fuck enough of that!

... It was Simmons though... and he was asking for an Elder Sign... so... In for a penny?

Slowly Grif nodded. Simmons beckoned him over, and Grif sat down beside him on the mattress. .

Simmons reached out, overly gently like he was worried he'd hurt or scare him. Relief and pained insult warred in Grif's chest. He wasn't some fragile little victim who would collapse into tears or panic if he was touched! Yet, couldn't help feeling grateful for Simmons' non-threatening gestures.

The redhead's hands were always kind of cold. Poor circulation maybe? Or just some side effect of his heritage? Guess that didn't matter. It was kind of appreciated right now, as Simmons' hand settled where Grif’s own had been moments before, the cold seemed to chase away the crawling itch almost immediately. Simmons' gaze went distant, like he was looking at something else or lost in thought. He probably was. A kind of cool soothing feeling brushed against the inside of Grif's head and he nearly closed his eyes at the relief it gave, banishing the feeling of that repulsive nuzzle and grotesque touch, filing them back into memory where they belonged so he could think about it without wanting to throw up.

Simmons' expression morphed into concentration, then concern, then paled in outrage. "That son of a bitch," he hissed quietly.

Grif noticed the way the other Red clenched his hands when he pulled away, nails digging dangerously into pale palms. He also noticed the way he bit his lip with the same ferocity, close to breaking the skin and drawing blood.

"Bastard," Simmons growled. "Toying with other people like that. Just fucking leaves Church not remembering? That's so fucked..." he hopped up to his feet just as Grif was wondering if he should try to shake him out of it. "Did you, uh-" his voice softened, "you took a shower, right?"

Grif nodded, it had been difficult to part from the warm pattering stream of water; it made him feel simultaneously better and worse. He'd almost felt like breaking into hysterics...

"Good..." Simmons breathed, "its easiest to do this on clean skin. Doesn't hurt that it brings your, uh... Nature to the surface," he started searching for the pen. "Just, um, take off your shirt, sit however is most comfortable. I'll put it where I put Kaikaina's."

Grif followed his instructions, pausing partway through taking his T-shirt off, "The same place? Is that like a... It’s not, um… I’m not gonna like _belong_ to you... or anything… right?"

Simmons paused in his search, looking back at Grif, mild alarm and a sort of... sadness(?) spread across his face. "No! Nothing like that. It’s just, there are a few good nexus points on the human body, that's one of the best ones so the sign will be strongest there," pen in hand he made his way back to sit behind Grif. "I wouldn't do that to you or Kai," he continued quietly. "I can protect you both without indoctrinating you. I know we don’t always get along and stuff but you won't ever owe me anything for it, never."

Grif blushed, glad it couldn't be seen. "That was pretty dramatic," he teased, trying to restore normalcy. "Get that from an episode of Star Trek?"

Simmons snorted and punched his shoulder playfully, "Ass."

Grif grinned.

"Okay," the red-haired Elder Spawn began, mostly to himself. "Just let me get it centered..." his fingers trailed down Grif's back, applying light pressure in his search for the proper spot. "Sorry," he murmured sheepishly when the initial contact made Grif jump slightly. Eventually, he seemed to find the spot and his hand stilled, the slightly cold tip of the pen touching down a moment later.

“So does the spit help somehow or what?” The Hawaiian blurted suddenly, feeling like a dumbass immediately after.

“I- Uh, what?” Simmons squeaked, the pen pulled suddenly away. At least he wasn’t the only one feeling embarrassed…

Gathering up what false bravado he could, Grif did what he did best (besides sleeping) and barreled on, “You licked the pen, right? Does that do something? None of the instructions I ever read said to do that.“

Simmons made a few struggling sounds before replying, “Um… well, no. But also yes?” Grif could practically _feel_ the awkwardness coming off the man behind him in waves. “It wouldn’t do anything if you did it or someone else did. Someone like me though… it, um… It kind of bolsters it? Like if you-” the redhead cut himself off and whined pitifully. “There’s no way to explain it that isn’t really embarrassing okay? Can I just say it helps and leave it at that?”

Grif shrugged, “Well yeah, that’s kind of all I asked.” Did kind of wish he understood it more but if it made Simmons _that_ flustered maybe he didn’t really want to know?

“Oh…” Simmons half coughed, “Well, good then.” his hand settled back on Grif’s skin again then the pen, and the taller man resumed his work.

It was oddly relaxing, Grif had to admit. The careful strokes of the pen, the press from Simmons' free hand as he tried to keep the surface as flat and stable as possible. Made him think a bit about massages... Oh, that would be great. His back was prone to getting sore, what with all cockamamie bullshit Sarge had them doing on a daily basis. Too bad there wasn't anywhere to get that done. Donut would probably eagerly volunteer but that guy had a pretty loose understanding of the term 'comfort zone' and like hell he'd ask him to work on his lower back! He fucking knew where that lead, thank you!

"Okay," Simmons' voice cut into the quiet, "Almost done just...um..." Grif both heard and felt the other man scoot backward on the mattress. Huh? Oh. Oh... Right. The last part. Grif swallowed hard, okay, no big deal. This didn't have to be weird unless he made it that way. There was a dip in the mattress and a ghosting breath of warm air that seemed to hover indecisively over his skin. Grif felt a sharp little thrill twist around in his guts. The warmth moved closer as Simmons finally grew a pair, and Grif felt the slow careful press of Simmon lips against his skin at the center of the drawn mark.

He only had a moment to recall what his sister had said, about how she'd felt before it came upon him. A soothing and wonderful warmth spread out from his back, all the way the tips of his fingers and toes. Grif tried his best to categorize the feeling.

It felt like…

It reminded him of playing in the surf when he was little before it had become a thing of menace. Of when the nurse had pushed the little wailing bundle into his arms, and his mother had tiredly told him that this was his baby sister. Or when he’d gotten enough money to move them from the island to a city away from the sea, where they could be safe. Like watching movies with Kai, bundled up on the couch in the winter.

Like when he’d been accepted to college…

Like when he got an A on his science project when he was little and his mother had scooped him up in her arms, showering him with kisses, and saying how proud she was of him...

"Grif?" Simmons called, voice thick with concern. Concern for him? Confused he turned towards his teammate, "Shit! Did I hurt you?" the redhead leaned in more, a hand reaching up in a worried impulse to brush something from his face. Grif blinked a blurriness out of his eyes. Oh. Was he crying?

Simmons was babbling apologies and Grif struggled to tell him he was fine but still swamped with the feeling so he couldn't do more than shake periodically.

Simmons. That's not fair. Not fair that he'd be so worried about him. They weren't supposed to be close, weren't even friends.

Times when he heard Simmons laugh. Times when he saw Simmons smile that shy secret smile when he thought no one could see him.

Damn it.

"Grif? Talk to me, what's wrong? What did I mess up? Gri-"

The redhead was cut off with a muffled, startled, sound as Grif suddenly moved forward and kissed him. It was an overly firm and almost desperate thing and Grif could only think at that moment that he had to press harder, to push this overwhelming warmth out of himself. Before he drowned in it.

Finally, he was able to wrench himself away, panting and shaky. "Fuck. Shit, I'm sorry," he choked out, looking down at his teammate, who he'd knocked over, legs folded up awkwardly underneath him, as Grif's bulk kept him from sitting up.

Simmons stammered, face flushed and eyes overly bright, stuck in forming an actual answer.

"I don't know why I did that," Grif managed. "I didn't mean... Fuck, " he cursed softly, wiping at his eyes as they began to overflow with tears against his will.

"I'm sorry," Simmons finally said, he was still red in embarrassment but he seemed more together now. "It's my fault I'm sure. I was still angry, I must have messed it up. The side effects are supposed to make you feel relieved or safe. Not... this."

"No, you didn't," Grif felt his shoulders heave as a new set of sobs tried to claw their way out, his arms shook as they held him up, and he was scared to try and move. "It's not like that- it's- I need to-" How could he articulate this? There didn't seem to be any right way, any right words to describe how he felt. That he wasn't overwhelmed because he was in pain, but that he felt so relieved, and that all the stress he hadn't realized he was holding, until now, was all tumbling out.

"It okay," Simmons looked up at him with a smile so accepting of his own guilt that Grif felt it like a knife in his side, "whatever you want. It's alright."

Damn it, Simmons. He couldn't just do that. Offer to let Grif take out whatever he was feeling on him. Even if it had magically been his fault, it wasn't right!

He wanted so many things right now. So many horrible and wonderful things.

Instead. Instead, Grif simply lowered his head, letting it settle on Simmons' chest, and cried until he had nothing left.

They didn't talk about it. Not how long he cried, not the way Simmons had put his arms around him, one over his back the other so he could card his fingers gently through Grif's long hair. Not about the kiss. Not about feelings. None of it.

It was better that way.

To be Continued.


	2. From the Depths, from the Void

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The camera feed that served as his helmet’s main source of vision glitched and fractured, and it took him a second to piece together what he was seeing, trying to parse it all together even as consciousness began to leave him again. Dirt. Rocks. Dry grass. Sideways. Sunlight. Shadows. Movement. Legs? Distant. Color. Laying beside him. Armor. Crumpled. Mangled. Streaked with dirt and liquid red, dark and bright. Maroon.
> 
> ...Simmons…?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I'm still alive! It's been ages since I've posted but I'm still writing! Just been so busy! >_< Hope this chapter was worth the wait!
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: Serious Injury, Night Terrors, Blood, mentions of cannibalism, mentions of animal death, a direct reference to Simmons probably having had to eat a dog from episode 150 "Retention Deficit", and SEX, (yes this sucker gets to earn that M rating!)
> 
> As Always please let me know if I missed anything that needs to be tagged! :D A thousand thanks to PirateLynLyn, who edited this huge ass thing for me!
> 
> Fun Lovecraft fact: Howard once wrote a lengthy essay about how cats were superior to dogs after an argument with a fellow writer.

_“When it come to matin’ with them toad-lookin’ fishes, the Kanakys kind o’ balked,_

_but finally they larnt something as put a new face on the matter._

_Seems that human folks has got a kind o’ relation to sech water-beasts—_

_t_ _hat everything alive come aout o’ the water onct,_ _an’ only needs a little change to go back agin._

_Them things told the Kanakys that ef they mixed bloods there’d be children as ud look human at fust,_

_but later turn more’n more like the things,_

_till finally they’d take to the water an’ jine the main lot o’ things daown thar._

_An’ this is the important part, young feller—them as turned into fish things an’ went into the water wouldn’t never die._

_Them things never died excep’ they was kilt violent._

_\- H. P. Lovecraft, The Shadow over Innsmouth_

_  
_

It was worth noting, that despite whatever efforts he put into preventing it, Simmons' very presence drove people mad. Well... Not like, stone cold, fucknuts, _mad,_ mad. More like... like it encouraged whatever part of a person was already the most unstable? It probably wouldn't affect the average sane person a whole lot, (unless you spent, like, every waking moment around him) but if you were already a nutcase?

... Yeah.

That wasn't just exclusive to Simmons, obviously. It was a trait that all creatures like him had. They just drew the mentally unstable to them. Probably why, even if they tried to prevent it, they would end up drawing a cult to themselves or making one out of crazed locals. Was bad enough that the ones who managed to escape whatever group had made them, stayed on the move. He bet that was why Simmons had decided to join the military...

It's a good thing that beings like him are so spectacularly rare.

That’s why, again, it was suspicious as fuck that there were two of them here in the canyon, even more so that there were hybrids here, too. True, they were more common by far, but still rare enough that this was super weird. Not that everyone else here was a hybrid, hence mentioning the whole 'driving normal humans crazy' part.

  


On the Red side of things, he was the only hybrid. Simmons was... well, you know. Sarge was human, Donut was human, and Lopez was a robot.

Sarge had started off half-cocked. From day one he'd been overly aggressive and prone to making grand and sweeping speeches that didn't make a great deal of sense. Over time he had gotten worse, plans and schemes becoming more and more nonsensical. More and more often containing attempts at Grif's own life as a 'happy side effect'. Sometimes he wondered if maybe on some instinctive level Sarge knew what he was. If so then maybe it was an automatic revulsion to an “abomination”? Or potential competition for the role as the head of their little bullshit “not cult”, a thing that Grif 100% did _not_ want.

To be honest, in this particular case, Simmons wasn't helping. Grif wasn't sure if it had started off as an attempt to hide himself or because he was so desperate for some kind of guidance or instruction that he latched on to the old man simply because he was in charge. His ass kissing had only accelerated Sarge's aggressive brand of crazy and despite the Maroon Soldier's attempts now to inject some logic and restraint into their CO's plans, it was far too late. Dude was totally bonkers and there was no coming back from that. At least he wasn't talking to himself… Just his shotgun. He sang to that.

Donut was or had started anyway, as a seemingly normal, if gullible, rookie. He was the youngest there, though not too much younger. He'd been bright and chipper and eager to please. He had odd habits for sure, but really anyone who claimed not to was a liar. As time went on through his behavior got... weird.

It wasn't the being gay thing. Grif himself was bi, far as he knew Simmons was, too. (Or were they pan? What _was_ the difference...? Eh, whatever.) Not to mention, in this day and age, who even gave a shit? If Donut had grown up in the exceptionally rare hyper-conservative family then that could be why he was so repressed. It would even make sense that those desires, now free to express without judgment, could be cranked up to eleven.

Nah, it was more... see Donut had this thing, where he didn't really get the word 'no'... Not in like an assault kind of way (thank fuck) but in a personal space and personal privacy sort of way? Sharing thoughts, feelings, and touches, even when it was clearly unwanted. Staring in blank confusion when told to back off, as though the words were in some language he didn't speak and when more force was applied he'd sulk and come close to throwing a tantrum. (Simmons still won out where those were concerned, but Donut wasn't far behind with his big crocodile tears)

Over time all of that had only gotten worse (obviously) joined by uncomfortable and frequent innuendos, more often than not delivered like the Pink (lightish-red! "technically he is correct." Simmons once said) Soldier didn't even realize he'd said them. All that was trying at best. Lately though? Donut had developed a bit of a... sadistic streak? Eager for violence and making weird idle threats which often blended in with his aforementioned innuendos, which only made them even more uncomfortable. They came out most often when Donut perceived someone or something keeping him from what he wanted. It was like... a kind of greed or gluttony if that made sense. Like a child who suddenly had everything potentially at their fingertips. An abrupt freedom that seemed to encompass anything and everything and now it was simply a chant of: _more more more more more!_

In short, Donut was the exact kind of person who'd get suckered into a cult.

Lopez was, again, a robot. He worked on the team's vehicles and only spoke Spanish in what Grif suspected was a surly tone, but who could tell? Whether Lopez knew what they were or not was unclear and probably irrelevant. Not to mention whatever aura of otherworldly mind breaking bullshit Simmons radiated didn't have any effect on him. Lopez never did anything abnormal towards either of them, nothing outside how he treated anyone else anyway. Mostly he seemed to just want to be left alone, which suited Grif just fine.

  


Blue team was almost the polar opposite. They had one, yes one, just one, normal human on their team, and that was Caboose.

I know, right?

There was Church, who was Church. Enough said. He was just your average asshole most of the time, until whatever the fuck had spawned him decided to possess him when it leaked a little too much over and he started acting like a first-class creeper. Simmons had way more insight into all of that than Grif did, but he didn't say anything more than the bare necessity about it, which, again, was fine with him, but sometimes he got the feeling that Simmons pitied the Blue leader.

There was Tucker, a sex-crazed self-proclaimed playboy who was completely dense to his being a Child of Yig. Even after, and he could not scream this enough, **_HAVING A FUCKING ALIEN-LIZARD-BABY!_ ** Hear that in the back? Okay? Good. Grif wasn't sure if he was Church's 'worshiper' or not, but given how much Church loved attention, even when he wasn't... not himself... That was probably a fair assumption to make.

Tex. Yeah. Um... Totally not human. Not at all. Her body was or had been, maybe, but whatever lived inside it now sure wasn't. Simmons had asserted that she was a Ghoul, a degraded almost dog-like creature that came into being when humans dabbled in 'black magic' and got in the habit of eating corpses. He admitted, too, that there was definitely more to her than that; though he refused to say more. To Grif, she felt like... like a twice dug up grave? Like a tempered and furious thing was chained up inside her and, if given the opportunity, would gladly rip apart the facade someone had dared to force it into and leave a trail of total carnage until it dragged itself back to the person who'd done this to it and visited every conceivable torture upon them.

... Just a feeling he got.

What she was doing here, Grif didn't know. She'd shown up not long after Caboose had 'accidentally' shot Church, and Blue's had written him off as dead. Until he wasn't, which they'd just kind of accepted. Or maybe she was meant to replace the guy who had been there before? Flowers? He'd been a Ghoul too (not at all like her though) and had been aware of what he was (unlike the rest of them) if Grif's single and tremendously uncomfortable encounter with the guy, when he'd stumbled upon Flowers having a 'snack' in one of the caves, was any indication. Yeah, that was a tale for another time, like maybe never.

So to that end, at least, the woman in Black armor was a mystery. Her reason for being here clearly revolved around Church, but Grif never got the sense that she was 'devoted' to him. More like Church was hopelessly devoted to _her_. She was more like his keeper; her presence driving back the other being that jerked the Blue's existence around like a puppet as he'd seen first hand in the cell.

Strangely, she seemed to be looking after Kai, too, shooing away the other Blues when they harassed her and (according to his sister anyway) was generally fun to hang out with. So whatever her reason for being here, as long as she left them alone and kept Kai safe, he could care less, even if she was scary as hell.

So that just left Caboose.

The guy was, uh, weird. Grif couldn't really speak to whoever he'd been before he got to the canyon, but according to Donut, the guy had been basically normal. Kind of an idiot and a bit dense, but normal.

Not now though.

At this point, the guy might as well be a giant child. Emphasis on the giant part, only Simmons was taller than him. Grif suspected his new state of disassociated innocence was born of a shock greater than any human could bear. That was most likely Church's doing, given how the bulky Blue doted on him. Sometimes Grif wondered what he'd seen, then decided he'd rather not know. His own nature afforded him some protection but he was far from immune to the possibility of losing his mind if he butted into things he ought not to have.

Mostly the lumbering idiot wandered around the Blue's own base, but sometimes he'd go on walks or little adventures out in the canyon. Chattering with imaginary things, playing weird games. He seemed to be aware of all the other non-human entities in the canyon, too, because after a while he started coming around to Red base. Sarge didn't seem to know what to do with him; he just herded and shooed him around like a big weird dog. He never tried to shoot him either despite his vocal hatred towards their 'enemies'. When he couldn't get Sarge to engage with him Caboose visited Simmons.

For the most part, he badgered him with odd and pointless questions, shouting them up to the roof or scampering along behind the Maroon soldier if he stumbled onto Caboose while out on patrol, inquiring about every little thing. Simmons did his best to answer him, weirdly enough. When Grif asked why, he'd just shrug, "He's harmless, at least to us. Just make him leave all his weapons in the box by the door." And that was that.

It was so bizarre that Grif didn't even question it when Caboose ended up with his own room. Not a _room,_ room exactly: it was a cell in the brig under the base, but Caboose had hoarded a bunch of pillows and blankets from who the fuck even knew and made himself a little nest in there. He would visit it most often when he was mad at Church or Tucker or both, sitting in his burrow of bedding, grumbling in irritation, eating snacks (which Grif for one was happy to 'share' when Caboose offered) and drawing pictures which ranged from childish scribbles of mundane crap to unsettling sketches of horrific scraps of creatures or places.

Poor moron.

  


Oh! Also, there was Doc. He wasn't on either team, he lived up in the caves and argued with himself in an impressive array of voices. He was a medic or something? The only things of note he'd done since showing up was to nearly run Sarge down with a Warthog and deliver Tucker's baby, after that he was immediately kicked out to fend for himself in the wilds. He wasn't really important.

  


* * *

So. At some point, the Blues had ended up with a tank. They'd had it for a while but after the initial worry about being attacked, watching Caboose blow Church up with it, and then never seeing it again, everyone kind of forgot about it.

Then one day, out of the blue, Sarge sent them out to enact some stupid plan. Something about not having enough numbers and Lopez betraying them to the Blues (which Lopez seemed to protest from behind the warthog he was fixing less than ten feet away when he threw a wrench at Sarge). Old geezer had said something about building a loyal cyborg, too, but Grif tuned him out.

He was more interested in watching Simmons anyway.

No, not like that!

Nerd had been acting weird all day. He was distracted, kept staring off into space. He'd pause in the middle of something, bite his lip, furrow his brow, undo whatever he'd done and do it again. It was just mundane things, far as Grif knew: writing reports, organizing inventory, cleaning and sorting. All kinds of things that Grif would rather not do thank you very much! But they were all things Simmons actually _liked_ doing and seemed to do well, so if he was making mistakes something had him worried. Something other than the thousand and one inane things that bothered him on a daily basis. Grif knew him well enough to know that.

It was a bit unsettling.

So Sarge marched them out towards Blue base. Convinced through whatever crazed logic he had, that the parts he wanted were there and absolutely nothing would convince him otherwise. Fan-flipping-tastic.

  


They were maybe more than halfway there when it all went to shit. There was a sudden rumbling sound, Grif felt the vibrations from his boots to his helmet. He was distracted by Donut's sudden warbling shriek and darting past him towards their own outpost. Startled, torn between following or not, Grif shifted a hesitant step one way, then the other. He spun around when he heard other voices shouting. Were those the Blues? They were too far away for him to tell what they were saying, idiots should turn on their long-range radios instead of screaming across the canyon. Time seemed to slow as he turned towards said shouts, a large shape rose up from the small mound of a hill only a scant foot or two away, the incline raising it high enough that Grif was drenched in shadow as it blotted out the sun. In that split second, shock and fear struck him and his body seemed to try and move in two directions at once, resulting instead in a trembling paralysis.  
  
The massive tank barreled over the hill with the force of an earthquake and descended upon him.  
  
Oh crap-  
  
  
Grif came to with a groan. At least he thought he did, he couldn't tell if his eyes were open or not. He tried to take stock of things. He hurt. Or maybe he didn't? He felt somehow both numb and in terrible pain. There was a persistent ringing in his ears and a drum played by furious bees in his head. Around him were muffled voices in various levels of panic, he thought maybe someone was shaking him. Or was that the vertigo?  
  
He became aware of his HUD fading in and out of focus, darkness and light. Shouting out blinking warnings and readouts that it really, really, _really_ , needed him to look at please! It went black again for several long beats as he blinked. His breathing dominated his ears. The thudding might be his heart? Not sure...  
  
The last he remembered...? Sound... The shadow... Realization... Someone shouting... An impact against his side?  
  
Oh...  
  
The camera feed that served as his helmet’s main source of vision glitched and fractured, and it took him a second to piece together what he was seeing, trying to parse it all together even as consciousness began to leave him again. Dirt. Rocks. Dry grass. Sideways. Sunlight. Shadows. Movement. Legs? Distant. Color. Laying beside him. Armor. Crumpled. Mangled. Streaked with dirt and liquid red, dark and bright. Maroon.  
  
...Simmons…?  


* * *

The next several hours were vague at best. At some point, Grif crawled his way out of the mire and back to the waking world. In the haze of overly bright lights and sounds that really needed to go back to normal, ‘kay thanks? He learned, to no one’s surprise, that he had a concussion. Goodie.

He remembered a whirl of explanations from Donut, shouting from his sister, more shouting from Sarge, Caboose yelling for the sake of it, a long pause when Grif abruptly threw up, and then a final round of yelling when Caboose remembered he was there to get Kai and plucked her off the ground like a misplaced toy and carried her out the door literally kicking and screaming. She’d be back to visit… probably. After that, there was lots of poking and prodding and lift this, move that, look over here so I can check your eyes, you lazy fat ass!

When things started to make sense and he had a proper grip on things he found himself sitting in a chair beside the medical cot Simmons was still unconscious on. So, with nothing else to do, he stayed and waited with only the new horrifying additions to his teammate's body to keep him company.  
  
He'd been there most of the day when Simmons finally decided to wake up. Thankfully no one had given him crap about his absence. Donut had convinced Sarge that Grif needed to rest anyway from the whiplash and the aforementioned concussion.  
  
"Wouldn't want the Blues sneaking in and taking us from behind if he faints!"  
  
Plus someone needed to be there when Simmons regained consciousness, so they killed two birds with one stone by having Grif wait there. And Sarge did like killing things. The overly dramatic wink Donut had shot him when he ushered their CO out of the room was not appreciated.

  
  
Grif absentmindedly ran his fingers over the bandage taped to his left temple and tried not to scratch at the cut below it that had just missed his eye. Seemed a chunk of shrapnel from the tank clipping his visor had sliced through the armor like butter, ripping a lovely gash along the bottom of the occipital bone. Chances were it was going to become an ugly scar…great. There were medical compresses and cold patches (wrapped and taped respectively) on various parts of his body to try and reduce the, no doubt, horrible bruising he was in for and a weirdly comfortable support wrap around his neck, just in case. It seemed like it was made of the same material as their under armor, only stiffer, but also much softer.  
  
Grif regarded Simmons passively when the quiet groan reached his ears, and he watched his teammate's features contort in clear pain as he struggled to wake up. He'd made it out a lot worse than Grif had... He, um... Well... No sense tiptoeing around it: Sarge had gotten his cyborg. Simmons' left arm was gone, replaced with a mechanical one; his left eye, too, held in his skull with a mash of ugly metal plates. Parts of his left side were covered in similar metal panels. Who even knew what Sarge had replaced _inside_ ? Needed or not... Shit, he'd never thought Simmons could get paler...  
  
Grif tried to be patient while the lanky man pulled himself together. Slowly his eyes cracked open, the original green and new red, and for a good solid few minutes, Simmons just stared blearily at the ceiling. Finally though, not even looking at Grif he spoke, his voice rough and pained.  
  
"Guess I lucked out...."  
  
"I don't know how you'd call this luck," Grif muttered. "You're really fucked up."  
  
Simmons let out a slow breath, "Left eye... Left arm... Other parts, too, I think... This HUD is weird...." He made to sit up but didn't move more than an inch before giving up with a pained groan. "Do I still have my legs?"  
  
"Yeah, both," Grif replied. "I think he was going to take one but it didn't happen for some reason?"  
  
Simmons sighed, raspy, "He didn't have to do any of this... I'd have been fine... Guess he doesn't know that so...." Slowly, with a grimace, he turned his head to look at Grif, "How much like shit do I look?"  
  
"On a scale of one to ten? Twelve."  
  
Simmons laughed weakly, "Ow..." His gaze swept over Grif and the heavy man tried not to squirm. "How about you? Still got all your original parts?"  
  
Grif huffed a laugh of his own, "Yeah. Concussion, whiplash. Gonna have some bitching bruises. Not bad all things considered."  
  
Simmons smiled, closing his eyes in relief. "Best case scenario," he said, a contented exhale followed.  
  
"What is that supposed to mean?" Grif asked, patience finally starting to ebb.  
  
Simmons tried at a shrug, "Exactly what it means...."  
  
Grif grit his teeth, "Why did you do it?"  
  
"Do what?"  
  
"Don't play stupid!" the orange soldier snapped, he was in no mood for this stupid fucking game. "You know exactly what I'm talking about!"  
  
Donut had only been too happy to fill him in. Telling him all about how Simmons had run into him, a jump or a tackle or a grapple or a push, to throw him out of the way of the tank. Grif had been clipped by the front fender and slammed into the dirt, Simmons... Simmons got run the fuck over. Grif hadn't been spared a single bit of the gory details; he knew how bad the damage had been. If Simmons wasn't... if he were like him then... he'd have...  
  
"Because it was the best case scenario...." Oh, Grif was so sick of hearing that!  
  
"So what was the worst then?!" Grif gnashed his teeth which felt sharper than normal. He tasted copper where he nicked his lip with them.  
  
Simmons returned his eyes to the ceiling, though it was obvious he wasn't really looking at it. "Worst case? Before your sister even gets here you get run over by the Blue’s tank," he began quietly, reciting it like some manifest he'd memorized.. "The damage is extensive, Sarge won't use the cyborg parts on you. They don't work if I force him, so he takes parts from me and replaces them with the cyborg parts. then he gives my parts to _you_ . Left leg, left arm, left eye, almost all internal organs, most of my blood, some bones muscles and skin..." Grif felt himself pale. What? _What?!_ "You're fine for a few weeks, then you're not. You... don't make it." The amount of unspoken, horror, insanity, and nauseating gore was crystal clear in that pause. Grif’s stomach rolled. Simmons turned back to him, wearing a small, sad, smile, his remaining organic eye held an eons-long exhaustion, "Think I did a pretty good job all things considered...."  
  
Grif struggled for words, "Did... What? Did you fuck with _time!?_ " Could Simmons _do_ that!?  
  
Simmons looked at him in confusion, "What? No, don't be stupid. It's just math." He paused, looking to the side, and, for just a moment, Grif thought he saw a blush struggle to form on the paperwhite, translucent cheeks, "I... had dreams." Oh. "Warnings. I think... maybe... Father thought it was important? So... yeah."  
  
Oh... Oh...  
  
"Oh..."

  


* * *

  
Like he's said before, dreams are a thing for them. Humans have dreams yeah, but not like Hybrids sometimes do and absolutely not like what Elder spawn almost always have.  
  
Grif can't speak for Simmons; he has no idea what he dreams about. He doesn't ask; Simmons doesn't ask. That's the rule. He does hear him wake up sometimes, sweaty and shaking, panting, muttering words in a language Grif doesn't know. Sometimes he hears those words when Simmons is sleeping, and, if he listens too close to them, they make him feel fuzzy and light headed. So he tries not to. Usually, Simmons will get up and wander away for a while, most of the time to the roof. It's better than the times he sleepwalks… or just sort of stands places… Like the time they found him in the armory, crammed into a corner and just staring at the wall. Or the few times Grif's woken up in the middle of the night to find Simmons stood at the side of his bed apparently having been watching him while he was sleeping; humming, or singing, or muttering, some tune the orange soldier can't identify… Whatever those incidents are Simmons doesn't seem keen on talking about them. Grif obviously has zero intentions of asking.  
  
Grif does similarly when he has dreams: the going for a walk thing, not the staring thing. Doing something like hanging out on the roof quietly with someone (Simmons, always Simmons) nearby makes things easier. After the worst dreams though, he can't bear to be around another person, that's probably the only reason he can drag himself out of his bed instead of just curling up in a ball under the covers, shaking and wide awake.  


  
He dreamed about the depths again. Of darkness and distance, of a chorus of voices calling and lamenting his absence. Their wayward child, their runaway. They speak about him like he’s not there, but also too him. It makes him feel dizzy...

_You shirk your responsibilities, why are you being so selfish?_

A shadow larger than a skyscraper opened phosphorus eyes the size of a dropship and stared up at him from the darkness. The voices change their chants as tendrils reach out for him.  
  
" _Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh_ _wgah'nagl fhtagn."_  
  
_In his house at R'lyeh, dead Cthulhu waits dreaming._  
  
Grif felt sick. Suffocated, he struggled against the pressure of the water weighing down on him.  


The choir keeps singing their distorted praises. Some voices though call out to plead and scold: _You need to come home. Stop acting like a child._

  
_No! No, I don't want to! Leave me alone!_

It's such a wondrous honor, why wouldn't he be happy? All are down here. There’s no pain or sickness or death. Everyone is here, everyone is waiting. Doesn't he want to be with them? Doesn't he want to have his sister with him always? Safe and happy? Doesn't he want to be with his family?

His heart clenches in pain. It's not fair. It's not fair to say that to him! They were never there for either of them. The things they demand, the things they’d make him do, just to ensure there would always be more of them. But still, always still there's a part inside him that’s so bitterly alone, part of him that wants so badly for it to stop.

It could stop. They always promise it would if he just came home. Just dove down and came home. He wouldn't have to do those other things if he didn't want to. No no. He’s too important for that. The great priest has need of him.  


Praise to dear Father Diagon! Praise to great Mother Hydra! _They_ are both in agreement. An emissary is needed! Those who were once suited to the task are nearly no longer, they only dimly recall the places outside the depths, the spaces between the other spaces reject them now. He is best designed for this, he has been exposed to far more of the outer and other. It must be him!

The things his heart and mind mourn for can all be his. All he must do is serve.

  
The reaching, groping, tentacles are upon him, grasping at his legs and pulling, ready to drag him down into the darkness where the dead priest slumbers and waits, when a sound caused them to jerk back. Well, not really. It's as much a sound as it is a light as it is a shadow as it is vibration as it is touch or thought or feeling. It was loud or bright or big, and everything shook dangerously, a tower of cards to be swept up by the breeze.  
  
The chorus wailed, shrieks and cries of pain and agony, his own voice joining them as he cried out in fear-  


* * *

Grif woke with a start, his hands scrambling against the mattress of his cot in a fit of terror as he heaved himself up. He was in the base's shower room, clicking on the lights before he fully registered that he'd made the trip down the hall.

  
"Fuck..." his voice echoed slightly through the tiled room. "Shit...." He paced fitfully around in no particular direction, few steps one way, few another. He couldn't stop shaking. He felt cold. He felt hot. His skin hurt.  
  
He was so thirsty... the air in the canyon was so dry, the shower room was only slightly better. He staggered towards one of the stalls, sequestering himself in the far corner of it. He couldn't take it. Couldn't stand it. Shakily he reached up to the water control panel.  
  
  
Realistically, Grif shouldn't have been surprised at all that Simmons realized he wasn't in his bed and came looking for him. He didn't know how much time had gone by when he'd faintly heard the door slide open over the patter of the water. He couldn't even find it in him to care how he must have looked to his teammate. Curled up in the shower corner, still in his pajamas, drenched to his bones.  
  
It was fine. It was keeping the shaking away. He was still awake, had been staring at the wall blankly for however long he'd been here. He may have given in on the water thing but he wasn't going to close his eyes. That would mean returning to the depths and the fuck he'd do that...  
  
His teammate's bare feet padding across the tiles was a strangely soothing addition to the cool water raining down on him. They approached a bit cautiously and stopped just outside the stall, "Grif?" Simmons voice was just loud enough to be heard over the water, "You okay?"  
  
Grif hummed a groggy affirmative, technically yeah... but... he still felt shaken up inside, off-kilter.  
  
"Can I turn the water off?"  
  
Grif swallowed, "Yeah...."  
  
Simmons leaned over and a few sharp beeps heralded the shower shutting off. Grif finally turned to look at him as the redhead righted himself, his arm should have been wet.  
  
It wasn't.  


Stupid Simmons, always being weird, always showing off his god baby powers, using them for stupid crap like this just because he was prissy and didn't want to get wet. Should grab his arm and get him all wet. Better yet, shove him in the shower and turn the water on. Mess him up. Totally drenched from head to toe. Absolutely _soaked_. And then-

  
"I'll go grab you a towel, okay?"  
  
Grif startled from his intrusive thoughts, he felt almost caught, like Simmons might somehow have seen. Good thing mind reading didn't seem to be a thing he could do, Grif thought dazedly. He nodded, sluggishly hauling himself to his feet. With not much else to do he just stood there awkwardly on the tile, exhausted, water dripping from his sopping hair and clothes which clung to him like a skin that didn't fit. Just like his real skin, huh?  
  
Simmons returned, promised towel in hand. He didn't say a word, just silently draped the fabric over him. Gently the redhead rubbed the towel over Grif's hair, same went for his face where Simmons paused to pat away escaping streams of water.

  
Grif was silent while his teammate worked. He felt kind of distant from the whole thing like he was an outside observer. Where had this care come from? Was it just Simmons wanting to prevent the mess he'd be very likely to leave? _No stupid_ , his brain helpfully supplied. Really the answer was obvious wasn't it? Because he understood. Maybe not the precise specifics, but, aside from his sister, Simmons understood **this** , understood him, in a way no other person ever could. And to his credit, he was trying to make things easier by cleaning up the mess, bolstering against the storm of things neither of them could do anything about. Grif's mind drifted, unbidden, to things he'd thought, things he'd felt, things he'd harbored, that he wished he didn't. Despite his best efforts, the emptiness of his dream returned, an unpleasant and sorrowful ache in his chest.  
  
This dream had shaken him far more than even the more extreme ones he’d had. It had been a painfully low blow, to have your feelings dragged out whether you wanted them to be or not, to have your secrets promised and dangled in front of you. Knowing full well how starving you were. And he was starving, wasn't he? How long had he pretended he didn't feel like he did? Why did he have to put up with being this way? Why couldn't he go after what he wanted in his own terms? It wasn't fair.  
  
Slowly he leaned up towards his teammate.  
  
"Grif?" Simmons asked and the way he said it, just a soft, quiet, breath, a slight confusion, but something under it, something warmer, hopeful, bolstered Grif's conviction.  
  
His nose brushed against Simmons', and he saw the other man's eyes slip closed and felt him draw a sharp, shallow breath, just the barest second before he closed his own eyes and pressed their lips together.  
  
A person's first instinct when it came to kissing was often to be aggressive, to push as hard and as close as they could. They did it in every sappy book, every movie, every embellished tale told after the fact. But, Grif had kissed enough people to know that the best was the exact opposite.  
  
He kept his attentions soft and light, brief pressure, slow, gentle passes that made his lips tingle and sent little sparks dancing around in his stomach. He was doing it right, he knew, when he felt Simmons sigh softly. His hands sliding from the towel on his head to settle on his shoulders, human thumb rubbing light circles against the damp fabric of his shirt absently. The release of tension from his normally ready-to-snap teammate made him feel bolder, more at ease with doing this and not overthinking it. In response Grif moved his own hands to settle about the redhead’s narrow waist, mimicking the other man's motions and rubbing small, soothing, circles through his sleep shirt.  
  
An almost silent sound, a needy little slip of something, reached Grif's ears, and he responded to the unconscious plea. He teased the edge of his teammate's bottom lip with the barest tip of his tongue. Another, almost relieved breath, ghosted against his mouth as Simmons' own relaxed further, silently inviting him inside. Grif, of course, was only happy to oblige, teasing Simmons's tongue with his own, coxing it into a game of caresses that made his teammate's legs tremble.  


Had Simmons been hoping for a moment like this, too? Grif knew he was afraid of intimacy, the guy radiated **I am a virgin** , he grew flustered and fearful at the mention of just about anything and he was skittish around women in particular. The last one Grif was sure was at least par for the course when you could accidentally kill them (or worse) or make a world-ending baby… Even he was cautious and careful about that. So then... was this Simmons’ first experience with basically anything? Or at least one of very few?

Wow, that was a heady thought…

Still. “You okay?” Grif murmured, pulling back just enough to ask.

Simmons blinked at him, looking momentarily dazed before his eyes focused, and he abruptly took a step back, his expression became a twist of disbelief and familiar embarrassment. “What? Am I-? I should be asking you that!” The taller man fidgeted, looking Grif over, “Fuck, look at me, taking advantage when you’re messed up. You’re still soaking wet and-”

Grif grabbed hold of Simmons’ human wrist cutting him off, “I’m fine.”

Simmons looked at him flatly, cheeks still red. It was kind of adorable if he was honest.

“Okay, not _fine,_ fine, but, it's nothing weird,” Grif assured him. “Just really stressed. Need to blow off some steam. Make sense?”

“Yeah,” Simmons replied, expression softening.

“So,” Grif squirmed a bit himself, self consciously rubbing his thumb against the inside of Simmons’ wrist. “Are you okay? Do you even want- I mean, I didn't even ask…”

“I, umm…” Simmons looked at his own feet shyly; god, they were both fucking hopeless weren't they? “I wouldn't mind,” he said, almost too quiet for Grif to catch. “I’m not sure- you’re not going to give me shit if I say stop, right?”

“Not for that, no,” Grif replied. “Plenty of other stupid bullshit to call you on.”

Simmons flushed more, peeking out from his lowered head, shyly pulling Grif’s hands back to his waist, “Then… I, uh… I wouldn't mind helping you blow off some steam.”

Grif smirked, pulling Simmons back against him. He could feel the warmth of his body through the wet fabric of his clothes. “Glad to hear that,” he murmured, sliding their mouths together again.

  
Simmons hummed in appreciation. His hands sliding up to Grif’s shoulders, gripping and kneading at them, unconsciously itching to learn the shape of the body he was now pressing his own eagerly against. With a brief mischievous sound, Grif slid his hands farther down and behind, digging the tips of his fingers into the small of Simmons' back. "Ah!" the redhead cried out, not a full on yell, but the loudest sound he'd made so far. His legs trembled and buckled slightly, Grif gleefully seized upon the opportunity to pull him back into a dizzying kiss as he carefully eased the taller man to the floor.  


“Cold!” Simmons hissed when the thin sliver of skin exposed on his back touched the tile, reflexively arching up to Grif’s delight, giving him a chance to slide his leg between the redhead’s long slender ones. “Fuck,” Simmons breathed quietly, hips jumping a little, head falling back at Grif's insistence so he could nibble along the smooth skin of his throat.

“This floor is filthy…” Simmons muttered, for the sake of simply needing something to say.

Grif’s shoulders shook faintly in a laugh, “You know it's not. You wash it.”

“Because you won't, and Donut can't be trusted,” Simmons grumbled. “It's still undignified though!”

Grif snorted, mischievously nipping at one of Simmons' surgery scars, “So prissy. That’s half the fun. You can't pretend it's not.”

  
Simmons flushed, looking away and biting his lip. Grif laughed silently to himself, savoring his victory and resuming his eager exploration, moving to the mix of pale skin and metal that peeked out from his shirt marking the beginning of his shoulder prosthesis. Simmons wasn't idle though, mismatched hands moved down over Grif's chest, hesitantly, fingertips testing the firmness of the muscle that lay under the softer tissue above it. They soon moved to the back of his neck, pushing the towel off onto the floor and moving up to thread into the tangled mess of still wet hair, pulling Grif's mouth back to his, pleading for another slow, deep kiss that left them both feeling dizzy.  
  
Mouth now occupied again, Grif continued his mental mapping with his hands, eagerly roaming the firmer lines of the redhead. He slid his hands up under the soft cotton shirt humming appreciatively at feeling how well toned the other was, the way the almost flat planes of his abdomen rose into firm and tantalizing muscle as they contracted. His tall and lanky body would probably always keep him from noticeably bulking up, but all his early morning exercise and bizarre adherence to running drills hadn't let him down. Grif found himself even enjoying the contrast of skin, soft scars, and slightly cooler metal when his fingers brushed against it. Simmons made a pleased sound, and a slight shiver resonated under Grif's fingertips as he gently caressed the overlapping materials. He felt a kind of relief at that. At least it wasn't painful, or worse, totally devoid of feeling… Oddly motivated the brunette began following the dip where the different sets of abdominals connected to each other, flesh under his left hand, a scattering of plates under his right, down and to the sides applying rising pressure as it dipped down along the bony rise of his partner's hips, sliding just under the waistband of his pants. Just as the Hawaiian expected the other man jumped, a surprised sound of pleasure escaping from him as the motion ground their lower halves together. Grif answered with a stifled sound of his own, sliding his hands farther down under the fabric. This seemed to bring Simmons out of his haze, and Grif obediently backed off when the previously clinging hands gently pushed him away.  
  
Part of Grif had expected to be rejected initially, and now he couldn't shake the small thread of unease that snaked back up his spine at the thought that the redhead might have changed his mind. Maybe he’d felt like he’d been duped or pressured? Had he gone too far? Crossed a line he hadn't thought to ask about?  
  
Instead of disgust, Simmons looked up at him desperately, and Grif didn't miss the fear and uncertainty that lurked behind his eyes which seemed unable to keep from darting away from his, even when Simmons lips were flushed and reddened and a deep blooming blush had spread from his cheeks, down under the pale expanse of his neck, and down to what bit of his collarbone that could be seen. Grif could hear the unvoiced question and tried to smile reassuringly against insecurities, "It doesn't have to mean anything," the hybrid said, his hand still teasing just under the waistband of the redhead's sleep pants. Partially it was meant to be a comforting gesture, mostly though it was just from a desire to keep touching someone real and warm and alive. He tried not to think about how that statement brought simultaneous relief and disappointment.  
  
"It doesn't?" Simmons asked, voice small and fragile, somehow he looked and felt that way, too, right now, laying under him. How could such an absurdly tall man, harboring inside him a fragment of a being so powerful and so alien it couldn't even be properly perceived by a regular human being, seem fragile?  
  
"It doesn't mean anything at all," Grif assured him and the look of relief that spread across his teammate's face was almost euphoric. Yeah, even if they had been ordinary humans something more than messing around would never work for them. "You uh," Grif swallowed, suddenly overwhelmed and embarrassed, "You good...to uh...?"  
  
Simmons laughed, and then he was kissing him again, slender hands, one normal one metal, gripping and tugging at Grif's shirt as his hips pressed up into the pressure of Grif's hand. The Hawaiian grinned in delight when Simmons groaned against his mouth. The motion made his hands slip further down, thumbs catching at the band of the thin cotton sleep pants making it easy to pull them down over his thighs, revealing his black boxer briefs. My my, how form-fitting, and it left a good impression for the imagination if you got his drift.

"Shut up," Simmons snapped breathlessly despite Grif not having said anything. "Take off your fucking pants." Such sudden bravado in the face of being so close to total exposure. Or maybe just deflecting how close to an actual Moment™ they’d just had.  
  
"Bossy aren't we?" the Hawaiian teased, reveling in Simmons startled squeak when he abruptly yanked his shirt up to his collar bone and began mouthing along the lightly defined pectoral muscles.  
  
"Better than an oral f-fixation," Simmons gasped, pulling an arm back to bite at the fingers of his flesh hand.  
  
"Mmm... normally," Grif began, pausing his retort to lick a delicious line slowly up Simmons’ abdominals that earned him a stifled shudder, "you'd be right. But I think we both know who wants things in their mouth the most, don't we?"  
  
Simmons whimpered.  
  
Grif reveled in that reaction, though it did cause an important thought to occur to him again. He was fairly certain but just to be sure.... "Have you ever done anything like this before?" he asked, murmuring his question against Simmons' neck. The redhead squirmed but didn't answer, and Grif moved up to breath the next part into his partner's ear, "Need to tell me, dude. Can't give you what you want if I don't know."  
  
"No," Simmons finally said, voice thick in embarrassment. "I've never done anything with anyone. Not even... the first part..." he admitted.  
  
"Makes sense, no way of knowing what would happen," Grif replied, giving Simmons a pointed nip on the shell of his ear with his still too sharp teeth when he noticed the edges of self-pity sneaking into the redhead's expression.

Simmons let out an indignant, "Ow!"

"None of that crap," he scolded. "It was the smart thing to do. So stop it."  
  
Grif snatched the towel off the floor where it had fallen, folding it into a somewhat neat rectangle. "Here," he motioned for Simmons to lift his head, "so you don't hit your head."  
  
Simmons flushed, looking to the side as he settled on his makeshift pillow, "The floor is still cold..."  
  
"You’re still on that? Guess we should warm you up then, huh?" Grif murmured, resuming his attentions to the redhead's neck. He had to keep reminding himself to be careful which was hard when Simmons seemed to really enjoy it, leaning his head back farther and offering up more of his throat. With a normal human, one wrong move and he could rend the vulnerable flesh open with ease. He paused a moment, pulling back to admire the already faintly bruising marks he had left. He wondered, with Simmons... could he maybe be more aggressive? Maybe something to figure out another time...  
  
Simmons tensed a bit, seemed Grif’s introspective pause had brought the situation into too much focus and he starting worrying over it again. That was unacceptable.  
  
Grif gripped the waistband of Simmons’ briefs more securely, yanking them the rest of the way down. The lanky man squeaked as his backside made firm contact with the cold tiles. Before he could fret even further Grif caught him up in another lazy kiss, biting at his lips. Careful, don't break the skin, wouldn't want to get any of his partner's blood in his mouth. No matter how tempting that might sound… No! Bad Grif! Instead, he redoubled his efforts in memorizing the inside of Simmons’ mouth. The inhuman creature hummed contently and looped his arms back around Grif's shoulders, hands ghosting along the back of his neck, scratching blunt nails along the wet material of Grif’s shirt. Oh man, in whatever other form Simmons absolutely had, did he have claws? Grif had never wondered that before. He had no idea what Simmons’ “heritage” had him hiding. Human DNA was pretty malleable it turned out. Hybrids had a hard enough time staying human, eventually most of them changed and never came back; Spawn like Simmons were changed from the moment they were born and had to learn how to seem normal. Grif hadn't even attempted to imagine what Simmons hid, but now he was hoping... Something just as sharp as his own, something the Elder Spawn could just _sink_ into protective hide... With a shiver Grif scrambled to rearrange them, so he could get Simmons’ pants and briefs off the rest of the way. Plus… Kinda wanted to see what the other man had to offer. He’d felt it against his thigh earlier.

Grif felt a sudden thrill, a bolt of heat that went straight to his dick. To his surprise, instead of ending up straddling Simmons like he’d expected, when he’d shifted, pulling off the offending garments, the lankier man had moved, too. This decision ending up with Grif settled between two pale thighs; which, thanks to Grif’s own wide hips, had resulted in them being splayed wide open. Whatever his expression was had Simmons squirming beneath him, face regaining its redness, eyes darting away, teeth worrying at his lip.

Jesus…

Grif tossed the pants carelessly away and raked his eyes over Simmons’ body, making an appreciative sound just to make the redhead squirm more. He knew Simmons had hang-ups about how he looked, but, to be honest, he couldn't fathom why; he was slender, yeah, but he had nice subtle definition, nice abs, good sharp hip bones... Did he mention he liked those? Necks, abs, hips, butts, yes, please and thank you! Grif let his hands follow his eyes, along scattered freckles, the shallow dip of the navel, the start of a thin trail of red hair that thickened and curled farther down, a detour to the pronounced curve of the hip bone, then back down that groove to the apex of those pale thighs where there other man's cock stood up, nicely proportioned, red and eager for attention. Grif made a show of licking his lips, running his thumb along the edge of meticulously groomed hair. Trust Simmons to be obsessed with "manscaping".

His hands returned to Simmons’ hips, coaxing him into a slow, lazy rocking motion, rubbing them both together. He huffed a breath of satisfaction through his nose, watching the way the body beneath him looked when it was moved. Oh yes, he liked.  
  
"What about your pants? I told you to take them off," the maroon soldier breathed shakily, head falling back when Grif decided his new goal was to leave a sizable hickey on that pale throat.  
  
Grif hummed, breaking from his self-appointed task, "Why don't you do something about it?"  
  
"M-me?"  
  
Grif gently untangled Simmons' human hand from his hair and guided it down his own body to the front of his pants, cupping it over the hardness there and rocking teasingly against him with a pleased rumble, "No fun if I don't let you unwrap your own present."  
  
"That line is fucking awful..." Simmons chuckled throatily, already trailing off as his own curiosity and lust encouraged him to follow Grif's instruction.  


The heavyset man shifted his hips to help the other push his pants and down over them, kicking the sodden clothes away somewhere with a wet splat. Grif sat up more when he felt Simmons' hands brushing against his skin curiously, watched him lean up a bit so he could to try and sneak a look. Grif kept up a smarmy grin, despite feeling a little self-conscious (like could you blame him? Bad enough regular people give you shit for being fat but when you were secretly part fish man, too?). This would be the first time in several years he’d be seen by a new perspective partner after all, but he was curious to see Simmons’ reaction, all the normal prissy, snaky, know-it-all, jabs had so far disappeared in the face of this shyness and embarrassed desire.

Seriously, that's hot!  
  
His teammate seemed torn. On the one hand, he was very clearly frustrated with Grif teasing so much and not just getting on with touching him already and, on the other hand, Simmons was trying to get a good look at Grif's own body. Something he seemed to be having trouble with, not because it was hard to see (Hahaha very funny...) but because every time he glanced down, he'd flush and his eyes would dart away.  
  
"Such a virgin," Grif teased. "Too much to even look at?"  
  
"No! I mean it's- I'm not-" Simmons spluttered. "It's just that- _hnng_ !" His words were cut off with a strangled groan as Grif finally curled his hand around his cock, giving it a firm squeeze.  
  
"Don't worry about it," Grif mused. "I'll take care of it; you just enjoy."  
  
Simmons shook, eyes glancing around the room uncertainly as though looking for something, "Don't we, um.. Ung! Don't we need to get, um... Uh." His blush worsened as he got caught up on the word.  
  
"Lube?"  
  
The cyborg blushed redder than his hair, hiding his face in his hands with a dismal whine, despite his dick giving an interested twitch in Grif's hand.  
  
"Oh my god, you can't even say it," Grif snickered, using his free hand to try and coax one of Simmons’ to uncover his face. "Come on dude, neither of us has pants on; I've got my hand on your dick, and you can't even say it?"  
  
In a show of petulance, Simmons took his hands off his face and bit one of Grif's fingers. The nowhere near dangerous gesture only made the heavier man laugh more. He hiked Simmons hips up, pressing flush, reveling in the garbled whine he got in response. With a free hand, Grif shifted to grip both his and Simmons' cocks together, stifling a groan of his own, from this angle they made a very delicious picture...  
  
"Seriously," he murmured, bending down to tease Simmons with lazy kisses again as he started up an equally lazy rhythm with his hand. Not a lot of space to move, but he could make it work, he had experience. "Don't worry about it. Enjoy the moment, there's always next time."  
  
"Next time," Simmons repeated against his mouth, not a question, more like he was tasting the words to see if he liked them. "Okay..."  
  
Grif was sure he felt the hint of a smile when Simmons kissed him back and felt the weight of those mismatched limbs around his back again. Good. He was fine with this. If it took the pressure off to not have to look, not go too far, that was perfect. He was all for easy and lazy, hands down.  
  
The two moved against one another, hands running over skin, resuming their secret memorization of each other. Grif found himself relaxing contently in the warmth building up in his skin and in his stomach, hissing softly when Simmons scratched the nails of his human hand along his back in just the right way. He returned the gesture, mouthing at what skin he could reach when Simmons would periodically tense and muffle small embarrassing sounds in his shoulder.  
  
Another heady thrill joined the heated fogginess in Grif's brain when he felt a tentative touch at his side. Wordlessly he shifted to accommodate Simmons' hand as it shyly snaked between them. Thin fingers brushed against his, retreating, but returning with more confidence moments later. It wasn't the best angle to see Simmons’ face but Grif still tried. He caught sight of his remaining green eye, looking away, watched it widen in surprise, then slide almost close, the small bit of visible cheek burning pink. Without comment, Grif shifted his hand so he could entwine it with his teammate's, letting him get used to the heat and weight of having them both pressed into his hand. Then, just as slowly, Grif guided him into resuming the torturous rhythm, he would let Simmons set the pace once he wasn't so self-conscious about it. He could see him biting his lip.  
  
Grif raised himself up a bit so he could look down at the other man, taking him in. Oh, did Simmons paint a lovely picture... Spread out like that, squirming and stretching fitfully as their threaded fingers stroked them both slowly. The small sounds and breathy sighs when he was touched. His expression, blissfully hazy, eyes heavy-lidded, alternating between closed and struggling to keep open, a thin ring of startling green around deep black. His hair in disarray, cheeks, and throat flushed, lips red and definitely at least a little swollen.  
  
Grif took a shaky breath, watching with rapt fascination as a few little droplets broke free from his still wet hair, falling to impact on Simmons' skin, making him shiver at the sudden cold.  
  
Fuck... How good would he look wet?  
  
Completely drenched? Soaked to the bone? Whining for Grif to make him warm...  
  
Grif's breath hitched; he tightened his grip a bit, strokes more purposeful. Simmons moaned in surprise, hips jerking up into his hand, legs tightening around his thighs.  
  
Fuck... He wished there was like a lake or ocean somewhere around here... How amazing would it feel? Simmons trusting him enough to let him pull him under the surface? Let him strip him down? To touch him like this? See him haloed by the light from the surface, hair played with by the water, eyes pleading for more, pleading for air that old Grif would be able to give him. Trusting that he would...  
  
"Fuck!" Grif gasped, hips jumping on their own. His sudden fantasy had pushed him to the edge. He wouldn't last much longer.  


Eagerly he dragged the nails of his free hand down Simmons’ throat, watching, enraptured, as the redhead's head fell back with an unfairly erotic sigh, offering up that pale column of flesh up. Careful, he reminded himself, moving slowly down, _careful_ , his nails were still too sharp, just the barest graze was enough right now. Over the flat muscle of his breast, down along the curve of the bottom of his ribs, over his stomach, tracing his abs. God...why was he so fixated on this area? There wasn't anything remarkable about it. Still, for a moment, he could have sworn… Just a second… He was sure something had moved. Something had pressed back against his palm. Grif felt his mouth water. He wanted- what did he want? Something terrible. Something amazing.

_I need to know...what are you...?_

  
"Grif..." the quiet whine of his name brought his full attention back to his partner. Simmons was literally trembling against him. The corner of his organic eye was brimming with mortified and embarrassed tears, biting at the fingers of his cybernetic hand, “Don’t look,” he pleaded around the metal digits. “Please don't look…” Without even thinking about it Grif leaned down, touching his lips to his tears, humming happily at the taste of saline. He abandoned his attentions to the other man’s midsection, gently prying the metal hand from his mouth, entwining their fingers and pinning it to the floor. Simmons looked tremendously relieved and gripped back shakily as he whined again and strained fitfully. Simmons’ human hand flexed spasmodically around them and Grif felt the restrained jerk and jump of those narrow hips as Simmons struggled not to just give in and rut against him. Grif realized with a fresh wave of heat that Simmons was struggling to hold out, was because he didn't know what he was supposed to do? Didn't know if it was okay? ...Was he doing it for him?  
  
Grif stilled his hand; Simmons looked up at him in alarm which switched immediately to an almost painful strain and bite of lip when he gave their cocks a firm squeeze in reassurance. Grif leaned down, giving the shell of Simmons' ear a teasing brush with his tongue. This close he could hear the jerky shallow breaths the redhead took, the way it hitched and smothered a new whine any time he so much as twitched.  
  
"You did so good," Grif whispered in the cyborg's ear, grinning when his teammate absolutely shuddered. Yes! He knew it! Trust Simmons to be into praise, "It's okay. You can let go..."

  
Simmons' face flared red. "Grif!" he whined pitifully. Fuck, why was that so hot? Him all riled, up, flustered and embarrassed, it only made Grif want to push him further.  
  
"Don't worry about it. I'm so close, aren't you?" he nibbled along Simmons' bottom lip. "Come on... finish the job; I wanna see you fall apart."  
  
The redhead made a strangled sound, his human fingers flexed at the coaxing and with a desperate groan, Grif felt him buck his hips into it. A similar sound was pulled from him as Simmons began pumping them both in earnest, the sound seeming to spur him on. Grif groaned and caught Simmons' reply with a deep kiss as the tension in his abdomen finally broke, pleasure and heat washing over him.  
  
  
They lay there in lazy afterglow for a minute or so, breathing deep burning breaths against one another's skin as they cooled down. Eventually, Simmons squirmed a little and Grif eased himself up enough for them both to get their arms free.  
  
"God..." he heard Simmons breath softly and gazed lazily at him. His eyes were closed, hair plastered against his forehead by the sweat that still glistened slightly on his skin. Cheeks and throat flushed, the latter flexing when he swallowed between the shaky breaths he exhaled through his nose. His metal hand was still entwined with Grif's, the other now laid lazily on the tiles by his head, fingers lightly flecked and palm mildly slicked with splatters of pearlescent sheen.  
  
Grif grinned to himself, he looked good like that...  
  
"Stupid," he chuckled, "you know there's no god." He leaned his forehead briefly against the redhead's, hoping it wasn't too intimate a gesture. "Not that I'm not flattered."  
  
Simmons snorted, "Jack ass...." He shifted his head to give the heavier man a surprisingly tender kiss. "I think we need a shower now."  
  
Grif smiled despite himself, "I guess we do."

  


* * *

  
  
Things were...better? After that. Grif didn't feel much like putting a label on any of this, seemed Simmons didn't either. Over all nothing really changed. They still carried on as normal, giving each other crap, him skirting around doing any kind of work, Simmons harassing him to do at least _something_ . Though he did make an exception when it came to participating in Sarge's nutty plans which suited Grif just fine: they were getting more absurd and dangerous anyway.  
  
What changed was what happened after hours. Specifically what happened when one of them wasn't doing too well. Whether it was dreams or just the weight of life pushing down too heavily on them, there was now a new unspoken rule that they could seek physical comfort from one another. No questions or comments. No pressure to call it anything or to feel committed to it. Sometimes that meant fooling around; something the previously virginal nerd seemed excited (yet still devastatingly shy) about, and it brought Grif a tremendous amount of amusement. Sometimes it meant one of them would silently move over the best they could in their too small bed, letting the other hide there until morning.  
  
All in all, a nice arrangement.  
  
  
Life, however, was notorious for pitching the unexpected at you as soon as you felt comfortable, for shitting all over you as soon as you thought that maybe things were okay now.  
  
As such Grif was surprised when he went up on the roof for the tedious task of keeping watch and Simmons wasn't there. He wasn't with Sarge either and asking the old fart about it had blown up in his face. Apparently, the idea that his most loyal kissass was shirking his duties was not only the most serious of crimes, it was also Grif's fault. Seemed Sarge thought laziness was contagious and somewhere along the way in his crazed ramblings concluded that Grif was working with the Blues to spread said laziness and insubordination to undermine Red Team and win the 'war'.  
  
Grif decided that this was probably not worth his time when the shotgun reared its ugly head, and the Red C.O. started waving it threateningly in his direction.  
  
Finding Simmons did turn out to be easier than he thought, the guy wasn't that good at hiding really. Turned out he was just holed up in their room, curled up in the far corner of his bed, propped against the wall. He was oddly hard to notice in the dim light that came from the staunchly shuttered windows. Again Grif was struck with the strangeness of how someone so tall could seem so little.  
  
"Simmons?"  
  
The redhead didn't so much as look up, staring blankly at the thin blanket covering his cot.  
  
Trying to quash the creeping feeling of worry that churned in his stomach Grif slowly approached the maroon soldier. When he was close enough to see properly Grif did a mental assessment. He looked paler than usual, his skin having taken on a paper-like quality, his eyes looked glassy and the dark circles under them worse than normal, and it looked like he was sweating. This close Grif could see a faint trembling in his shoulders and noted the way his arms were looped tight around his middle.  
  
"Simmons," he called again, this time reaching out a hand to touch him as he sat down on the edge of the mattress.  
  
"Don’t," Simmons stated groggily, causing Grif to jerk his hand back, "don't..."  
  
Something was wrong... Shit, what was he supposed to do?  
  
"Do you want another blanket?" he asked lamely, unable to think of anything else.  
  
Simmons actually smiled briefly and let out an almost laugh like exhale, "No I... It’s fine." He shuddered, swallowing hard, "I'm fine."  
  
Liar. "Dude..." Grif struggled. Damn it, he hated work but he also didn't like the guilt that clawed at him when another person he kind of maybe gave a shit about was suffering. "Can't you, I don't know, at least tell me what's wrong?"  
  
Simmons listlessly raised his head, and, for a moment, their eyes met. The sensation of infinite space and tremendous distance in them left Grif with a feeling of vertigo, even after Simmons focus shifted away to look guiltily at his feet. "I..." Simmons began, voice tired and heavy with the constriction that usually meant he was dangerously close to crying, "I'm hungry."  
  
Oh, uh...  
  
"Do you, umm, I have a candy bar you could maybe have? Or like, do you want an apple from the fridge...?" Oh my god, could you sound more like a giant moron?  
  
"No." A faint smile flitted across his teammate's pale face. At least his attempt was appreciated?  
  
Grif's gaze returned to the arms pressing against his teammate's abdomen, recalling the last time he'd seen him do that, during the incident with Church and Tucker. This looked way worse… Did that mean…? "Are- I mean- you're not, uh... _Pregnant_ ...? Are you?"  
  
His teammate looked horrified, "Jesus fuck, Grif, no!" he winced after his outburst and curled up tighter, hiding his face. "I already told you before, when we started to... _you know_ . I’m not pregnant...I'm just uh...hungry."  
  
Something in how he said it seemed off… and the way he was pressing his arms to his abdomen? It seemed to hint at something more than just simple stomach pain... Grif thought of before, in the shower room, when Simmons hadn't wanted him to look at his stomach. He wondered… holding his hand out again, just shy of actually touching Simmons, Grif quietly asked, "Can I see?"  
  
Simmons glanced his way in mild alarm like someone caught breaking the rules, a slight wet shine began to build up in his eyes, "Why-? But- it’s gross... I'm gross."  
  
Grif let his hand fall to cover Simmons' arm, "No grosser than me." He gave a gentle squeeze, "It can't be that bad, right?"  
  
“You’d be surprised,” Simmons joked bitterly, but slowly relaxed his grip around his middle letting Grif put his hand on his stomach.

Even with his gloves on Grif could feel a definite heat. Simmons was feverish, like scalding. A human would probably be dead if their temperature got that high... Weird thing was, it felt like the muscles under his hand were violently seizing. Like cramps or-? No, not cramps! Movement! Something was _moving_ under Simmons' skin. He looked up at the redhead in alarm. Simmons was avoiding looking at him, but Grif could still see that the tears from before had started to spill from the lone human eye. Humiliation was clear on his features.  
  
Grif’s fingers twitched reflexively when one of the- whatever they were- rolled under his hand. He saw a shape move under the fabric of Simmons’ fatigues and could imagine the skin under it stretching unnaturally. He was reminded of a bucket of fish or eels, all scrambling to escape the overly confined space. In fascination, he pressed his fingers more firmly against one of them and the thing jerked and pressed back. Grif’s head snapped up when Simmons made a kind of hissing sound, "Shit, sorry! Does it hurt?"  
  
"Yes- no..." Simmons struggled. "I'm just hungry. But I don't want... It's gross and-" he trailed off, choking up, "I don't want to be like this."  
  
Grif was quiet for a moment. “What do you need? Is it something I can get?” He had a suspicion as to what the answer would be.

“No,” Simmons shook his head. “If we were on Earth it wouldn't be so bad. I could sneak into a hospital or something and nick some supplies. If that wasn't possible I’d maybe stalk a farm and grab a big cow?” Simmons snorted a bitter laugh. “If I was _really_ desperate, I’d wander out into the woods somewhere and take out a large deer, or a moose, or a bear… There was one time, at that artic base, with the dogs. Guess it makes sense that dogs don't like me much...” he paused, flushing in embarrassment at the look Grif gave him, eyes wide, brow raised. Look it wasn't like he didn't believe him! Just, you know, come on! It was hard to picture, okay? Simmons coughed awkwardly, trying to soldier on, “Of course, there's nothing like that in the canyon. Most of the place is dead except for like tiny ass lizards…” he sighed. “I just have to suffer through it. Not like it will kill me.”

Grif frowned in thought. This was a stupid fucking idea but- “Humans are pretty big…”

“What, are you going to go get me a Blue?” Simmons snapped. “Pretty sure they’d kill you if you tried, and one of our own would be just as stupid-” he shuddered, grunting softly as his abdominal muscles jerked unnaturally. “Sarge is just out of the question. Can you imagine even _trying_ to explain that? And Donut is just, no, he’d make it so creepy and awkward and- eww.”

"It won't kill me or convert me, will it?" Grif interrupted.  
  
"What? Grif, no!" Simmons started. "Don't be stupid! I can't ask you to do that, you don't even know what- I can't just-"  
  
Grif hushed him with a firm glare, “Dude, I fucking know first hand how much hunger can screw with your head. If you're not exactly joking about eating people then it's pretty serious.” With an uncharacteristically gentle touch to his teammate’s cheek, Grif brushed away the wetness, even if it wouldn't last long. "I may not know what you need exactly, but I’m not stupid. Answer my question: can you do whatever it is you have to without killing me or fucking up my head?" he said firmly.  
  
"I- Yes, I can," the sorrowful creature replied, he looked down guiltily. "Just... Don't look. Okay? I don't want you to see this."  
  
Grif nodded, he could do that. This was probably really stupid, who just offers themselves up as a meal? Besides an idiot.  
  
Well, Kai always did say he was too big-hearted for his own good…. Which she was totally wrong about! ...still….

He just couldn't make himself ignore this. Like, who knew what would happen if he did? Simmons might say he’d be fine, but he could be a total moron and sometimes he was hell-bent on making himself miserable. Martyr complex much? Grif wasn't kidding about knowing what hunger could do, how many times had he nearly snacked on some asshole? What about when Kai almost did the same?

...or the colony. Let's not revisit that.  
  
Before he could change his mind and cowered out, the orange soldier got up and hurriedly snatched the rumpled blanket from his own bunk. He said nothing to Simmons' questioning look, tossing it over the other man's shoulders.  
  
"Now I won't see," he said, sitting back down, "So... What do I need to do?"  
  
Simmons half hid his face under the blanket and stammered out, "Take off your armor. Top part of your suit too."  
  
Grif nodded and set about making short work of the orange shards, letting them pile up with a clunk on the floor. Simmons didn't even bitch. Top part of the suit came next, he shrugged it off his shoulders and let it flop down around his hips. He plopped down on the mattress a final time and scooted over to Simmons. "Okay," he breathed, "Come here and do whatever you need to do. Before I change my mind..."  
  
"You really should-"  
  
Grif leveled a glare and Simmons cut himself off with a squeak, finally uncurling and shuffling over the few inches to where Grif sat. He still looked worried and his face was red with shame. Nevertheless, he still shimmied into Grif's embrace, looping the blanket around him too, and hiding his face in his shoulder.  
  
Unsure of what else to do, Grif settled his hands on Simmons' sides, just for something to do. Or maybe to comfort? He didn't know. The scalding temperature of Simmons’ feverish body was even worse now. Just as Grif was about to ask if anything was going to happen, Simmons made a sound. Like a strained kind of grunt? The sort if sound someone makes when they're stretching out a muscle that's been tensed for too long? Pained but also relieved? There was a sort of wet popping sound and a kind of... slither? And Grif felt a movement against his stomach, a brush, like from a hand? But both of Simmons' hands were clinging to his shoulders... There was another brush soon after and another after that. Then, something slipped up along his side, sliding in an almost caress across his stomach.  
  
Grif started, almost pulling back, but Simmons held him firm, "Don't look. Please..." he pleaded, voice already shaking again.  
  
"Sorry," Grif replied, trying not to squirm as another something joined the first. They felt... Warm? Smooth and... Scaly? No, too soft to be scales... Still, it felt, almost like snakes? One of his childhood friends had one, and this reminded him of that. Little guy, Skittles, would meander, like, up your arm and under your sleeve, looking for someplace warm. This was like that, but these... whatevers weren't looking for warmth.  
  
"Tell me if it hurts too much..." Simmons pleaded again. Grif hummed in confirmation and leaned his chin against the top of Simmons' head.  


  
One of the serpentine appendages paused, just under his ribs on his left side. The end of it, slightly rough and boney, prodded at the place, as though testing. Then there was a brief, but sharp prick and Grif grunted. Looked like his hunch was right... Whatever these weird limbs were, one had just bitten him. Didn't seem to be moving, it was latched on? Grif shivered, trying not to feel too grossed out when he felt a kind of cold, fluid, sensation spread down to the area as his body registered the sudden loss of blood and whatever else. He'd said he'd do this; it wasn't going to kill him or fuck him up. He was the one stupid enough to feel bad for an elder spawn who was jonesing for... body stuff...? Not to mention it was for the good of the canyon, or Kai at least, he didn't give a shit about any of these other assholes! Not to mention he could probably lord this over Simmons later, get something good out of it. Another snake-y, tendril-y, thing, sort of nuzzled the lower right side of his back. Again there was a sharp prick, and Grif grunted at the increased chill that followed it.  
  
"I'm sorry," Simmons mumbled against his shoulder, "its uncomfortable. Just, um... just give me a sec...."  
  
Something wrapped itself loosely around his upper arm and Grif nodded, wincing a bit as it bit into the more sensitive skin of his inner arm, down near the elbow. He wasn't entirely sure what he was waiting for, though if this was the worst of it then he could probably weather through it... Simmons had said to wait, so maybe whatever it wasn't hadn't started yet-?  
  
Grif started slightly, the tendrils that were latched on to him seemed to shudder, or maybe pulse? And suddenly an almost liquid warmth was spreading from the places they were latched on to, chasing away the cold and discomfort. Unbidden, the orange soldier found himself sighing and relaxing against his teammate. Okay, so that wasn't near as bad as he'd started to think it would be... but...  
  
"What is that?" he murmured, nuzzling into Simmons' hair, just for something to do. Couldn't help it! He felt all cuddly and fuzzy now!  
  
"It’s, um..." his teammate sounded a bit less upset now, more flustered. That was good; he was cuter that way. Ugh, what did he think that for!? "It's mostly an anticoagulant, a mild anesthetic? Muscle relaxant?" he fidgeted. "If- if it’s really uncomfortable I can try to add an amnesic? You won't have to remember what it was like and-"  
  
The pity party was cut off when Grif leaned down and kissed the top of Simmons’ head. He hadn't really meant to... exactly... Just, he was feeling pretty good right now, and this was harshing his buzz!  
  
"It's fine," he murmured, moving to pepper kisses along his teammate's temple, if only for the amusement of listening to him make all those flustered and embarrassed sounds. "I feel kind of high... It's not bad."  
  
"O-oh, well... That's good? I guess?" Simmons frowned, eyes narrowing in suspicion, like an angry suburban mom. "You're not getting high on watch are you?" he muttered petulantly.  
  
Oh my god, really? Now? Are you serious? While he was... what? _Feeding_ ? Bro, you're _literally_ eating me, and you're all butthurt that I might be smoking pot? Fucking get out.  
  
"I fucking wish, dude. Can't get anything stronger than a cigarette or a case of beer past Donut the super nark. He's worse than you!"  
  
"I'm not a nark… Just trying to make you follow the rules." Simmons groused, finally seeming to calm down, leaning his head against Grif's shoulder. "Tell me if you feel really light headed, okay?"  
  
Grif blinked lazily, hold up, wait, was his guess actually **right** ?! "Dude," he all but giggled, "are you really drinking my blood?"  
  
"Sort of, it's the plasma, mostly..."  
  
"You're a little space vampire!" Oh dear, here came his goofy side... “Only you don't turn into a bat. That makes you even better!”  
  
Simmons humphed, but Grif was pretty sure he felt his shoulders shake in a silent laugh, "I guess," he was quiet for a moment, some of the tentacles that weren't latched onto Grif's skin (it really felt like there were a lot of them, like holy crap!) brushed and nuzzled against him, and it was totally because he was kind of high, nothing else, no other reason, but a traitorous part of Grif’s brain wondered if he might possibly be _into_ this?

"Thank you. For helping me like this," the redhead murmured shyly into the blanket.

  
Grif hummed, almost half tempted to take a nap. He was feeling pretty good, despite feeling like he was seated in a nest of oddly affectionate eels. "No big deal," he paused, "okay, no, **big** deal. Still, it's cool, I mean... you've helped me out with my weird shit." Uh oh, that was close to talking about feelings. "So I'm just paying you back really. Not that you don't totally owe me, cuz you do." That's better.  
  
He felt Simmons nod against him, at the same time a curious danger noodle slithered along his back, nipping almost playfully at his shoulder blades. Did these... Whatever they were, have their own wills? Or was Simmons controlling them?  
  
"I am a bit curious though," the Hawaiian murmured, leaning into the pleasant sensation, "I know sometimes stuff...happens to you, but I haven't seen this before. Is, like, everything cool? Or...?"  
  
"It's happened before, yeah," his teammate admitted. "I usually know in advance, kind of like when you can tell a storm is coming? Like you can smell the ozone and feel the pressure change? It's sort of like that. So I try to do something about it, if I can’t I just... Wait it out? Like I said, there’s nothing I can do out here."  
  
"You didn't know this time?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Is that bad...?”  
  
"Uh... Not, really?" Simmons floundered. "Just, uh... it means my, uh... 'Father' is, uh."  
  
"Looking this way?" Grif repeated, remembering what he'd said before when he'd collapsed in the canyon.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
He still didn't quite get it, but what can you do? Grif grunted as he felt the biting mouths detach themselves, seemed they were done, but he still felt them squirming about. "So uh, is it, like, bad to ask who that is?" Ah crap, he hadn't really meant to say that, stupid drugged up brain!  
  
"Oh, no, it's okay." The not quite Irishman was silent for a long moment, despite his assertion that it would be fine it sure didn't seem like he believed that. Finally, he pulled back and regarded Grif before lowering his eyes and replying in a near whisper, "It's **Yog-Sothoth** ...." Despite being so quietly said the name seemed to carry an almost physical weight to it.  
  
"Damn..." Grif whispered, despite himself. The name sounded familiar but he couldn't remember exactly who that was. He struggled to pull back to a better topic when he felt Simmons tense against him and the tentacles start to withdraw. "Sorry, no, it's just feeling what you meant by 'lightheaded'." Not exactly a lie; he was feeling kind of dizzy.  
  
"Sorry," Simmons replied, Grif was pleased to feel him relax. He kneaded his hands on the other man's back. Not going to lie he was a bit tempted to make a grab for one of those little suckers and check it out. Might not go over well though... "You just need to rest, drink a bunch of water, eat something with sugar in it? It's like giving blood, more or less." Simmons murmured, "The, uh, _bites_ should wear off in an hour at most... The marks shouldn't last more than a day?"  
  
Grif grinned, "Well shit, if I get to eat snacks and nap without getting nagged at, **and** I get to get high? Fuck, consider me a 24-hour dinner!" He laughed when one of the hidden appendages swatted him, pesky little things, whatever they were. Did they have faces? He hoped not, that would be kinda creepy. He goofily babbled these questions as he nuzzled Simmons’ messy hair. Did they have little separate brains? Like octopus? Wait, that was starfish! Right? Probably? He could feel Simmons silently laughing against his skin, good, dodged the emo bullet.  
  
Still though... Yog-Sothoth, huh? Jesus Christ...  


**To be Continued.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for your patience with this chapter! T^T Like I said up top I've just been so busy recently, so I hope this chapter met your expectations! 
> 
> Also, I am open to suggestions for additions to this series so if there are things you want to see or pique your interest in this or later chapters please don't hesitate to let me know!
> 
> Another huge thank you to PirateLynLyn for helping me out! As always I'd love to know what you guys though! Your feedback is super helpful and gives me creative fuel! If you want to check out my artwork or even just say hello, feel free to stop by my tumblr! Here--> http://cc-sketchbook.tumblr.com  
> The sketches that inspired this fic can be seen here:  
> http://cc-sketchbook.tumblr.com/post/178805881873/day-six-of-sketchtober-simmons-from-rvb-as-wilbur  
> Here:  
> http://cc-sketchbook.tumblr.com/post/179503070908/day-twenty-seven-of-sketchtober-kaikaina-and  
> and here:  
> http://cc-sketchbook.tumblr.com/post/179575695888/day-twenty-nine-of-sketchtober-agent-carolina
> 
> See you guys next time! ~ Much love, CC


	3. Existing within, existing without

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next day Church took to scratching at the doors. A faint barely there thing you had to strain to hear. Sometimes Grif thought he heard other people talking, but he never went to check. He knew they weren't really there. No matter how real their pleading cries and screams might sound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's back! And things are getting spooky >:3
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: Stalking behavior, Character death both permanent and non, blood, gore, night terrors, dead animals, references to the doomed colony, self-deprecating thoughts, torture. 
> 
> As Always please let me know if I missed anything that needs to be tagged! :D A thousand thanks to PirateLynLyn, who edited this huge ass thing for me!
> 
> Fun Lovecraft Fact™: When Lovecraft was 17 or so he wrote a story called “The Alchemist” where a wizard curses a family saying that they all will die before they’re 30. It is later revealed that there is no curse and this guy had actually created a potion that made him immortal and had just been hiding inside the walls and passages of the old house/castle and killing the family members himself. It's hilarious. X)

_There were, in such voyages, incalculable local dangers; as well as that shocking final peril_

_which gibbers unmentionably outside the ordered universe, where no dreams reach;_

_that last amorphous blight of nethermost confusion which blasphemes and bubbles at the centre of all infinity—_

_the boundless daemon-sultan Azathoth, whose name no lips dare speak aloud,_

_and who gnaws hungrily in inconceivable, unlighted chambers beyond time amidst the muffled,_

_maddening beating of vile drums and the thin, monotonous whine of accursed flutes;_

_to which detestable pounding and piping dance slowly, awkwardly, and absurdly the gigantic ultimate gods,_

_the blind, voiceless, tenebrous, mindless Other Gods whose soul and messenger is_

_the crawling chaos Nyarlathotep._

_\- H.P. Lovecraft, The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath_

It's dark, his mouth tastes like copper and grit and Grif can't decide if his body is attached to him or not.  
  
_Yog-Sothoth knows the gate._  
  
_Yog-Sothoth is the gate._  
  
_Yog-Sothoth is the key and guardian of the_ _gate_.   
  
The air is choked with smoke, his lungs complain from the poor quality but keep working anyway.  
  
_Past, present, future, all are one in Yog-Sothoth_.   
  
He's walking. At least he thinks so... Pretty sure he is. He needs the wall for support.   
  
_He knows where the Old Ones broke through of old, and where They shall break through_ _again_. _He knows where They have trod earth’s fields, and where They still tread_ _them, and why no one can behold Them as They tread._   
  
He makes it outside. So he was in somewhere. Somewhere with walls? Inside generally had walls... Out here the air isn't as full of smoke but a really rank smell has taken its place. It’s acrid and thick on his tongue, it's like a physical touch, like every bad thing he's ever smelled all wrapped up in gore and flotsam.   
  
_By Their smell can men sometimes know Them near, but of Their semblance can no_ _man know, saving only in the features of those They have begotten on mankind-_  
  
Simmons. Where's Simmons? That's who he was trying to find, wasn't it?  
  
- _and of those are there many sorts, differing in likeness from man’s truest eidolon to that_ _shape without sight or substance which is Them. They walk unseen and foul in lonely places where the Words have been spoken and the Rites howled through at their_ _Seasons_.   
  
None of this place makes much sense. Sometimes he thinks he sees people. He thinks he sees Sarge at one point, facing a shattered chunk of concrete that must have been part of a wall, but then perspective goes all wrong and once Grif gets it right again he realizes he was mistaken. It's just a splash of Red, a bright starburst in the center of the point of impact.   
  
There's someone crying hysterically somewhere. He thinks it sounds like a young woman. Or maybe many young women? He finds himself thinking that Simmons wouldn't want this, but he can't figure out why...  
  
_The wind gibbers with Their voices and the earth mutters with Their consciousness. They_ _bend the forest and crush the city, yet may not forest or city behold the hand that_ _smites_.  
  
There! He thinks he sees him! It must be him. He knows the color of his armor. He can't make him out quite right... But that's him. He's at the center of the chaos, where the world stops and goes on and on forever. The ground is saturated like it's spent eons under an ocean of blood and bodies. The ground is cracked and charred, burned and reburned and burned again by the essence of the stars, they don't leave behind enough to even bury.  
  
_Great Cthulhu is Their cousin, yet can he spy Them only dimly._  
  
Geometry and geography and melting clocks sway drunkenly about each other, fracture, throw up, come back together, and run screaming in opposite directions. Grif wonders if maybe it was this his... _relatives_ , and their slumbering gods were so afraid of.   
  
It does have a lot of eyes...  
  
**_Iä! Shub-Niggurath!_**  
  
_As a foulness shall ye know Them._  
  
The air sings in a Chorus of laughs and screams. Wails. Lamenting. Gleeful cheering at the opportunity to be next for the butcher's block. They sing in singularly perfect agony.  
  
_Their hand is at your throats, yet ye see Them not; and Their habitation is even one with your guarded threshold._  
  
Simmons is there. Head lolled back, arms held out loosely at his sides, palms up. He's walking. Maybe. Standing. Above where the sky is supposed to be are eyes. So very many eyes. If they are eyes. Spheres, glowing and opaque, seeing all and showing all. Thin fluorescent tendrils reach down, grazing the ground in no real pattern leaving infinity in their wake. They encircle this child in curiosity. All is known of him of course but still, He wonders.  
  
Grif makes his way closer.   
  
A large black cat scampers past him. It stops atop a sheared off chunk of a titanic spaceship, regards him with its torn and x scared face before it turns away and escapes to the moon.  
  
In the distance a large lumbering thing, too scrawny in its flabby skin, stalks, and watches. Its jaws drool and gnash with insatiable hunger but it knows better right now. Still. It's looking at them. At him. Crouched. Too much like a toad. Too much like a bat. Too much like a man. It watches from a ravenous face framed with lines of orange ichor.   
  
Simmons isn't alone now. There's something else. A hound. Larger than any he's ever seen. Black as death with golden eyes to match. She's terrifyingly intimidating, but this close Grif can see that inside She's hollow, dried and dead, and so very tired...  
  
Is this what you want?  
  
" _Yes_." says the dog, " _Send me back, where he stole me from. Let me have my peace. Bar him from taking me away again. That's all I want."_ _  
_  
She's so tired. So very tired. She just wants to rest now.  
  
She is embraced. She sighs as She shatters to ashes. The world buckles under the strain. All things and nothing trying to occupy the same space.  
  
_Yog-Sothoth is the key to the gate, whereby the spheres meet._  
  
"Grif?" Simmons stands in front of him, tears in rivers of grief down his cheeks. His hands press against the orange chest plate, sinking into the broken shards and split flesh. Grif looks down and remembers now the bright crimson running down into the pool of blood that's up to his knees now. Up over his head. Oh... Right. When was it exactly...?  
  
Guess he hadn't made it before he died...  
  
"Grif. What am I supposed to do?"  


* * *

  
Grif snapped awake, chest heaving, shaking despite the innate heat of the canyon. He brushed sweat off his forehead as he tried to take stock of his situation and simultaneously get his heart to stop trying to escape his rib cage.   
  
He blinked as he finally registered the room he was in. Oh, okay, it was his room, his and Simmons’. He was, had been, laying on Simmons’ bed. Okay, right, he and Simmons had... Well, Simmons had been 'hungry' and he'd let himself serve as a snack...   
  
Okay take stock. How did he feel about that?   
  
...   
  
...   
  
Oddly okay actually. It had been weird, but really what about them wasn't weird? He'd gotten sort of loopy, but he hadn't done anything embarrassing. Aside from, maybe, kind of, sort of, get a _liiiiittle_ bit turned on? ... He'd think about that later. He didn't feel any different, not like mind controlled or anything. (Though honestly what would that even feel like?) So, he was okay? Yeah. Yeah, he was okay.   
  
So he'd fallen asleep and had a nightmare. A really fucked up one. The details were all ready splintered and hard to grasp; he was losing what little he could recall. Just that Simmons was there... And he was really upset?   
  
Damn. It was probably important, but if he couldn't remember then there was nothing he could do... But, he should tell Simmons at least, right? Speaking of-   
  
... Where was he?   
  
Shit, he'd been here when Grif had dozed off but now he was gone. That really unsettled him for some reason. Maybe in principle, it wasn't weird for him to be gone, but Grif couldn't shake the feeling of unease at not knowing where Simmons was.   
  
He got up, quickly, but not too quickly, and put his armor back on, also not too fast. That would be weird! He wasn't going to make it weird. Nope. He was going to go to his snack stash and load up on treats (doctor's orders, hee hee) and go up to the roof because Simmons was probably on watch up there, and tell him he'd had a dream he couldn't remember and leave it at that.   
  
Yes. That was exactly what he was going to do!   
  
  
That was not what he did.   
  
  
He made it about as far as the kitchen hall when he felt- itchy? No that wasn't the right word... But it was like that. A nagging feeling, like when you had a rock in your shoe but inside your brain? He was heading for the front entrance before he really registered it. When he did he realized that he could hear someone calling his name.   
  
"Grif? Hey Grif? Yoohoo! Grif are you in there? I could use a hand!"   
  
Donut?   
  
Quicker than was maybe appropriate, Grif huffed it up the slight incline and out into the bright sun.   
  
"The fuck?" he blurted upon seeing his teammate, well no not Donut himself, but the battered Maroon soldier he had sort of draped over him, one pink arm around his waist the other gripping the arm slung over his shoulder. "What happened?!"   
  
"I. don't. know!" Donut chattered in that oddly disconcerting cheerful cadence he sometimes used, "It was the strangest thing! See I was out here, looking for a nice sunny spot to do my calisthenics-!"   
  
"Sometime before we die, please!"   
  
"Oh! Goodness, I'm sorry!" the younger man tittered, "All of a sudden I see Simmons here! Just staggering towards the base. It was like he just popped into view! Just pop! Here's Simmons!"   
  
That sounded bad.   
  
"Well, what happened to him?" Grif tried.   
  
"Hmmm, I don't know." Donut repeated, "Overexertion maybe? Not enough vitamin D? Oh! Or sunstroke! If it's that, Simmons, then you must be burnt to a crisp! - You kind of do smell like a burning tire - but don't worry! I have some Aloe Vera! Nothing a nice deep rub can't-"   
  
"Suppress it," the voice that came from Simmons was startling, rough and scratchy like he'd been through a wood chipper, but it also carried an inhuman undertone that made Grif's blood run cold and his skin crawl.   
  
Donut stopped talking mid-sentence. Actually more like he stopped period. Just... Was and then stopped.   
  
Simmons detangled himself and stumbled a few steps away from their teammate, he swayed, and for a moment Grif was worried he might fall over.   
  
Donut jerked suddenly, "fi... What was I talking about?" he turned to look at their teammate, "Oh hello Simmons! What happened to you? You look like life took you over its knee and worked your-"   
  
"Sarge is calling you," Simmons wheezed.   
  
"-Oh goodness!" Donut chirped, "That's Sarge! Sorry to chat and run boys, but you know how he gets!" with a little skip in his step the faux blonde trotted away.   
  
"Damn, you're fucking spooky..." Grif told Simmons, only half joking.   
  
"Sorry..." Simmons replied, sounding like himself again. He took a shaky step towards Grif, who moved forward quickly when he saw the other man's legs buckle, catching him before he could fall.   
  
"Simmons, what-"   
  
"Grif," Simmons mumbled, cutting him off, "Call your sister, she needs to stay here tonight. I um-" his voice grew choked, "I don't know what to do about the other Blues..."   
  
A cold sweat broke out on Grif's skin, "Is it bad?"   
  
"I don't know... I don't know what he'll do..."   


Oh no.  


Much to Grif's relief Kai responded almost immediately. She'd always been more sensitive to this kind of thing than he was so she'd already had a feeling something was wrong.  
  
"Give me twenty minutes okay? I just gotta take care of something."  
  
Grif begrudgingly conceded, much as he would've liked her to just drop everything and book it over he knew that she was serious enough that she wouldn't delay more than she had to. In the meantime, he tried to keep himself busy. Yeah, that's how you knew shit was bad when he was doing work. Mostly he was just kind of peering over Simmons' shoulder while he scribbled... Something? On sheets of paper.  
  
"What are those for?" he finally asked, feeling twitchy.  
  
"They're for Sarge and Donut," Simmons replied, "Put them on their doors and they'll sleep through anything. Keep them safe for the most part too, I don't really feel like cleaning up a huge mess like that." the attempt at dark humor fell flat, “Not to mention that I do enough damage to them on a daily basis... No need to make it worse."  
  
Ouch. Yeah, but that made sense... But, how were they going to convince Sarge and Donut to go to bed? Drug their food? Coffee? No... They didn't have anything that they could use for that... Fake a transmission from command? Yeah sure okay, how? ...Yeah, thought so. Could have Simmons use more of his spooky 'powers'? Probably not a good idea. Too much exposure to that couldn't be good for you and he really didn't need these chuckle fucks getting even crazier. Not to mention that kind of stuff seemed to wear Simmons out. He still looked like he was gonna drop any second. Hmm... Maybe they should just shove them into their rooms kicking and screaming?   
  
... God that was a fucking stupid idea...   
  
So, then what? What were they going to do?  
  
  
"Hey, Sarge?"  
  
Grif jumped a little, oh, he'd been so distracted he didn't even realize he'd followed Simmons when he'd left their room. Good job numbnuts.  
  
"Simmons," the older Red acknowledged, looking up from where he'd been working on the warthog. Well, hovering over Lopez while _he_ worked on the warthog, "what is it soldier?" his helmet tilted as he looked his subordinate up and down, "Ya look like crap."  
  
"Thank you, Sir," Simmons saluted listlessly, "I... Uh, made a bit of a mistake. Sir."  
  
"Oh?" Sarge asked suspiciously.   
  
"Yes, I uh, forgot to change the clocks properly for daylight savings."  
  
"Wut?"  
  
What?  
  
Even Lopez slid out from under the vehicle to stare at the lanky soldier.  
  
"Simmons," Sarge began slowly, "the sun doesn't set here, there's no real daylight to save."  
  
"Well yes," Simmons stammered, "that's the thing you see since the sun is always out it doesn't happen every year! It's actually every 10! And so it happens all at once! Like a leap year!"  
  
"Is that so?" the Red C.O said slowly, "It's a ten-year daylight savings? And you forgot to change the clocks?"  
  
"Yes?" Simmons replied hesitantly, oh for fuck's sake, how was this ever supposed to work?  
  
"Wut time is it then?"  
  
"Just after 22 hundred hours, Sir!" Simmons chirped.   
  
There was a long awkward silence, broken only by Lopez quietly muttering something (probably a curse) under his breath.  
  
"... 10 PM?" Simmons offered.   
  
"Well dagnabit!" the old man bellowed, snapping to action. "That's past lights out!"  
  
Wait, what? Grif stared dumbfounded.   
  
"Simmons!" the Red C.O continued. "I will not lie! I am disappointed by this slip-up!"  
  
"Sorry, Sir."  
  
"What's done is done!" the old wack job said sagely, "What's important now is getting everyone back on track! We can't allow the Blues the opportunity to take advantage of our lapse!" he pointed at Simmons. "Go and notify Donut and then all three of you get your keesters to your bunks! It’s lights out!"  
  
Are... Wait, was he serious? Grif could only stare, making muted, sputtering little sounds as Sarge walked purposefully past them, heading back into the base. Had... Had that-? Did it really-?  
  
"I can't believe that worked..." he said, barely over a whisper, once the old Red disappeared from view.  
  
"I can't believe I lied to Sarge," Simmons echoed mournfully. He sighed deeply, oblivious to the 'are you serious?' glare Grif was boring into his head and put his hand to his helmet. No doubt calling Donut.   
  
Grif turned his attention to Lopez, "So uh..." he tried, "Not a big deal but you might want to like... I don't know, hole up in your room for a bit?" wait, did Lopez even have a room?  
  
Lopez's mechanical voice filtered up from under the warthog, "Cualquier tontería que ustedes dos estén tramando, no quiero formar parte de ello." (Whatever nonsense you two are scheming, I want no part of it.)  
  
Ummm... Grif turned to Simmons for help.  
  
"Yes, Donut- no. No I- ... I don't need to see your new pajamas... No, I believe you, promise. ... Please stop saying that- ... Donut that's not even what silkies are- no. Donut, please just go to bed-"  
  
Okay so no go there...  
  
"For real dude," Grif insisted, "You should-"  
  
Lopez popped his head out from under the warthog abruptly, "Ve a sacar tu pequeña broma y déjame fuera de esto. Si me molestas otra vez, voy a golpear tu cráneo grueso con un trinquete." (Go pull your little prank and leave me out of it. If you bother me again I'm going to club your thick skull with a ratchet.)  
  
Oh... So... That was a no?  
  
  
Several tens of minutes later, after the ushering of a certain really annoying teammate, who really, really, wanted to show them his new pajamas (if they even counted as pajamas given the very brief and unsettling description Grif gleaned when Simmons lost patience with Donut and practically tossed him in his room) they stuck the papers, with their odd scratches and scribbles on them, to the doors and... That was that? Would they actually work? Well they had to, right? People wouldn't keep making wards if they didn't do anything, and as Simmons kept telling him it wasn't like it was magic or anything. Just math. Just science most people didn't understand. Still, he couldn't help but feel tense, and he might have, sort of, maybe, (totally did not) jumped when his radio suddenly crackled to life and his sister's voice came in on the line.  
  
_"Hey uh... Dex?"_  
  
"Kai? Where are you? Did you leave yet?"  
  
_"Yeah I'm almost at your base but, uh... You_ _and your boyfriend may want to come see_ _this."_  
  
It was 100% his worry over what she was talking about that caused Grif not to comment. He gestured for Simmons to follow him and hurried to the entrance.   
  
He spotted Kai, heading their way, a growing yellow figure, running across the dirt and dry grass. He was pleased to note the duffle bag slung over her shoulder. Good, she still remembered to always be ready to get the fuck out of a shit situation. But...there was something off... Not the way she was running. Not even her specifically... The whole view. Yeah, something was up with that. Grif smacked the side of his helmet. Did the settings get screwed up? He didn't think he'd messed with the camera recently...  
  
"Oh shit," Simmons breathed beside him.   
  
Grif turned to look at him, then turned farther still as he realized the maroon soldier was facing away from him. What was he looking a- Oh. Oh shit.  
  
"Fuck."  
  
It wasn't his HUD, not a crossed wire or glitch in the controls. No. The thing that was causing the world to look dimmer, redder, was that for the first time, in the several years now that he'd been here in Blood Gulch...the sun was setting.  
  
"Hey," his sister called out in distress as she finally reached them, "so like is that supposed to be happening? You said it was always day here."  
  
"No," Simmons replied. "This planet's orbit is locked. This isn't natural." He looked at the siblings, "We should get inside. Lock the place down and wait for this to be over."  
  
  
Locking the base down wasn't something they'd ever had to do before now. Grif supposed he should maybe be grateful that Simmons thought reading instruction books was fun because fuck if he knew how to do any of this! (Hell, he hadn't even known you _could_ lock the base down...) The three of them inputting the right codes into keypads that Grif had never paid much mind to brought heavy metal shutters dropping down (and in the roof's case across) the entryways to the base. Each needed to be manually locked in place, same with the windows, which made sense if the power went out how would you get them open again?  


"So..." Kai asked once they were all locked in, "What do we do now?"  
  
Grif looked to Simmons who shrugged, "I don't know. Just wait it out. Do what we can to occupy ourselves. Probably best to stick together much as possible though just to be safe." He paused. "How were the Blues doing when you left?"  
  
Kai pondered, "Well I haven't seen Creepy Mc Creeper Pants all day; his monster girlfriend either." She adjusted the bag on her shoulder, yet to put it down, "Tucker was being all weird and mopy with his dog kid, so I told Caboose I'd give him five bucks and a chocolate bar if he locked them in Tucker's room and put the sign you gave me on the door." She tilted her helmet towards her brother, "By the way, I'm gonna need a chocolate bar from your stash." She ignored his indignant protest and continued on, "I told him to lock up, too, and he just told me it was fine because 'Church is my best friend!'" she finished, mimicking the hulking Blue's voice. "So that's that I guess?"  
  
Simmons wilted a little further, "Hope he'll be okay... I mean, he's not the brightest bulb in the box and the Blues might be, like, 80% jackasses but no one deserves what's probably coming..." he swayed a little unsteadily on his feet. "We should, um, get you situated and figure out sleeping arrangements and then probably get something to eat?"  
  
Grif hurried the couple steps to his teammate without thinking, catching his arm and helping him steady himself, "Me and Kai can figure that shit out. You need to lay down or something."  
  
"Yeah," the younger Grif piped up, "You look like shit dude!"  
  
"Gee thanks..." Simmons groused but didn't resist when he was guided down the hall and into their room.   
  
Grif tried not to hover while Simmons took the outer layer of his armor off, busying himself with figuring out where his sister was going to be sleeping. She could have his bed again, and he could take the floor. Kai protested, saying they should rotate or even just share. He might be able to sleep anywhere but that didn't make the floor any less shitty.  
  
"Well... It might be a bit cramped," Simmons' voice floated over to the two squabbling siblings, "but I think we have some emergency fold-out cots. Like for triage?" he looked around their space, "If Grif picks up his crap, it will probably fit? It's not huge; that okay?"   
  
Kai hummed, "I guess that's fine. Better than being on the floor." She gave her brother a knowing look that he could feel even with the helmet, hopefully, Simmons missed it, "Be all nice and cozy, right?"  
  
Grif gave her a sibling punch to the arm, "Go stand out in the hallway so Simmons can change," he shooed her towards the door. "I'll get some crap off the floor and then we'll go find your cot."  
  
Kai tittered in amusement but did as she'd been asked, scooting out the sliding door.  
  
"Thanks," Simmons said quietly a moment or two after.  
  
Grif looked up from where he was trying to shove some junk under his bunk. (Bow-chicka-wow- STOP IT!) "No big deal, dude," he looked the redhead over, taking in his worn out features; he looked even rougher than only a couple hours ago. Was it his imagination? Or was there something on Simmons' face?  
  
Stubbornly shoving a handful of dirty shirts, or pants, or whatever, under his bed, Grif got up, pausing only long enough to pop his helmet off before crossing the small space. Simmons started slightly, features screwing up in embarrassed confusion as Grif pushed his own in close, studying him.  
  
There! Yeah, he'd been right! There was something on Simmons' face! It was a faint smear under his human eye and... Partially across his cheek? By his nose? What was-? Hold up! "Dude..." he said carefully, "is that blood on your face?" Simmons wouldn't meet his gaze even when Grif ran his thumb over the faded trail under his right eye watching in a sick kind of fascination as small bits flaked off against his glove.  
  
"I dreamed this," Grif said softly, taken in by the surreal situation. "I don't remember what but... I remember blood on your face, just like this."  
  
Simmons looked at him guiltily, "Grif-"  
  
"Are you 'hungry'?" the orange soldier asked, cutting him off. He didn't really want to hear whatever it was he was going to say, confession or excuse or otherwise.  
  
Simmons looked away again, "A bit... Maybe. Not like before. I'm fine." He wilted under Grif's disbelieving gaze, "Look, I..." he hesitated, "You were right I do need to sleep. We can talk about it later, maybe, okay? I'm not going to take anything more from you."   
  
Grif's features softened in a sigh, "Okay. Just, look man. I get it; I do. This shit is pretty serious though, so you gotta tell me when something is up. Knowing when shits gonna get all fucked up is what kept me and Kai safe, and I really don't wanna screw that up now, okay?"  


Simmons nodded, "I'm sorry..."  
  
Maybe it was the tone, that defeated one again, the one that Grif hated, that had him moving before he realized it. The redhead didn't get out even a peep more before Grif had caught his mouth with his own. He was more aggressive than maybe he should have been, invading his teammate's mouth as soon as he heard the muffled questioning sound of surprise. Distantly, he wondered why he was doing this, what had brought this on? He just... Something about how he'd sounded, how he'd looked, that defeat... He couldn't stand it. His hand moved to cradle the back of his neck, now he moved it higher, to the mop of messy, curly hair, the one part of Simmons that outright refused to fall in line, and gripped it hard. The trembling needy sound Simmons made, followed by the feeling of him practically melting against his own still armored body was both thrilling and relieving in a way he couldn't explain. So maybe that was why. Why he wanted to ravish the other man like this until he couldn't make that face anymore.   
  
When Grif finally pulled away, he was huffing for breath through his nose. Simmons was in no better shape, panting, soft and shallow. He still looked dead tired, but there was a bit of fire back in his eyes.   
  
"I hate that fucking face," Grif murmured. "I like this one more."   
  
A splotchy blush struggled its way onto his teammate's cheeks. "Fuck you, fat ass," he snapped under his breath. Yeah, that was more like it. To his surprise though, rather than shoving him away or shooing him or anything like that, Simmons leaned in, pressing their lips together again. This time was slow and gentle in a way that reminded him of their first physical encounter in the shower room. Mismatched hands floated up to cover his, moving them away from his teammate's face and slowly down his body to settle on his hips. Grif kneaded the area slowly and fought back a smarmy grin when Simmons sighed contently. The hands over his pressed down, encouraging him to tighten his grip. It wasn't until Simmons made a sound that was one part hiss of pain and one part groan of pleasure that he snapped to awareness of what he was inadvertently doing.   
  
That's right. He was still in his armor; Simmons was in just the zero suit. He was gripping Simmons hard enough that there would absolutely be a bruise, especially with how pale Simmons was. But if the insistent pawing at his hands was any indication, the other man seemed to want him to grip even harder. That was... No, he couldn't do that, there was a reason their gear was built the way it was. A reason you needed to have that chip installed in your skull. This stuff was powerful. You could crush a brick to powder in your hand with it on, you needed the chip and in some cases an AI because without them even just moving your arm could shatter the bones to fine fragments and rip it right off your body like the worst ever water balloon.   
  
Realization in hand Grif relaxed his hold. He wasn't prepared for Simmons' look of desperation, for his hands to hold his face, feather-light, mouth trembling, urgently pressing kisses to his own.   
  
"Grif," he pleaded softly, "please," he arched up to breath against his ear, "hurt me."   
  
The orange soldier embraced him again, but made no move to do what he'd been asked, "No, I won't."   
  
Simmons looked at him like he'd broken his heart, "Why..?"   
  
"Simmons-"   
  
"Hey!" came Kai's voice from outside the door, "I can hear you two making out in there! At least tell me you're gonna so I can wait in the living room or something!"   
  
Simmons froze against him and Grif didn't need to look to know he wore just as mortified an expression.   
  
Outside Kaikaina just barreled on, "Not like I can even enjoy it! One of you is my brother! This is just like with the XBox! You can't even share can you?" There was a pause and in the awkward silence, he heard her boot kick the floor, "So not fair... I wanna jump the freaky hot monster nerd, too, asshole."   


Grif rolled his eyes, turning back to Simmons, who'd hidden his face against his shoulder. "Hey," Grif said softly, making Simmons look at him, "later, okay? When this bullshit is over?"  
  
Simmons nodded silently.   
  
"Good," he gave him a light nudge. "Go to bed. You need it. Trust me, I'm an expert."   
  
Simmons nodded again, and Grif heard him climb into his bunk as he left.   
  
"Not a word," the older Grif scolded as the younger greeted him with a knowing leer. "Let's go find you a stupid cot before I remember I don't do work and make you sleep in the closet."   


“Don't know how there would be room for me what with you already inside.”

Grif gave her helmet a firm smack.

  


* * *

  
Simmons slept only a few hours. At least Grif hoped he had actually slept in that time. He looked better than before so... Things went, sort of okay? Aside from being stuck inside and wary of being too far apart for too long, it wasn't terrible. They set up the cot for Kai, had some food, then just kind of sat around for a while.   
  
It was kind of nice in a way? Kai chatted with him and Simmons, telling them all about the absurd mishaps that just seemed to follow Blue team around. After that, she and Simmons both fetched their own data pads and just chilled: her playing games; him reading or maybe writing? Did Simmons write? Was it stories? Like sci-fi?   
  
... Not going to lie, he kind of wanted to read that now… What stories did elder spawn tell?   
  
Eventually they went to bed: Grif in his bunk, Simmons in his, Kai curled up in a blanket burrito on her cot between them. If this was all the next, however long, was going to be? Then it might not be so bad.   
  
Grif really should have known better than to jinx himself...   
  
  
Grif woke with a start, shaken by a dream he couldn't remember. He closed his eyes, taking in deep breaths to calm himself so he didn't wake up the others. He realized how pointless that had been when he opened his eyes again.   
  
His first clue something was up should have been the fact that he could see fairly well in the near total darkness. That wasn't a good sign... The second was that he wasn't the only one up. Kai was wide awake, turned around and sat up in her bed, staring unblinking at a point on the far wall. Grif could see her eyes glinting, like his own must be, reflecting what meager light there was as she trembled slightly and drew shaking short breaths. On the other side of the room, Simmons was also awake; he was sitting up as well. He, on the other hand, was stone still. Grif wasn't entirely sure he was even breathing. His eyes were locked on the same point, and they also glinted (well the human one did, the robot eye was always lit up), but not reflecting light like theirs. His eye burned with light from inside.   
  
"What's-?" Grif started, now starring in the same direction without realizing it at first. There was a sickening chill sinking its claws into his back. He felt like he was staring down a predator...   
  
"Dex," Kai whispered, anxiousness strangling her voice. "I- I need air..." she shook harder. "Richard?" Uh oh, that wasn't good. She must be terrified to call Simmons by his first name, "Richard," she pleaded, "I need to open the window. I can't breath."   
  
Simmons shifted imperceptibly but didn't take his eyes off whatever it was that had them all on edge. "It's okay, you can open it. He can't get in. I won't let him. You're safe, I promise. Just be careful, try not to look."   
  
Grif was finally able to tear his eyes from where they'd been locked to follow his sister as she shakily went to the window, a thin vent like slit with heavy shutters drawn down over it. He wanted to get up, to at least try to comfort her, but his body refused to move, self-preservation beating down his conscious desires. He watched as she reached out hesitantly, pulling at the latch and sliding the shutter open. Cool air began to waft through the thin gaps and Kai sighed in relief, leaning her forehead against the metal frame and concrete wall.   
  
Her breath hitched suddenly and slowly she raised her head, "The fuck is wrong with the outside?" she asked almost to herself. "It's dark, but it's all wrong... It’s not... Dex? Dex, it's like a video game, when you can't see what's too far ahead?"   
  
Before Grif could so much as even try to answer, his sister let out a short little shriek, jerking back and stumbling against the side of one of their dressers and collapsing to her knees. The scream broke him out of his frozen state, and Grif all but leapt to her side. His hand found her's and she clung to it, shaking like a leaf.   
  
"Kai? Sis, what's wrong?" Grif put his other arm around her pulling her tightly to him, "Come on. Talk to me," he gently encouraged, not even trying to hide his worry like he normally would.   
  
"He's outside," Kai choked out, her voice watery as she shook, stress making her cry. "He knows we're here; he's looking right at us."   
  
Grif nearly jumped out of his skin when a hand touched his shoulder. He hadn't even heard Simmons get out of his bed, but there he was. Made sense, why wouldn't he check on them? For all his flaws he'd more than proved he wasn't the kind of person who just left people to suffer. Just wished he didn't have to be a creepy ninja about it...   
  
He still didn't look at them for a few eon-long seconds, and Grif was reminded of a cat squaring off with another one. Each waiting for the other to break eye contact as their cue to rip each other to pieces. Eventually, Simmons slowly knelt beside them, only looking at them when the open window wasn't in his line of sight.   
  
"Here," he told Grif softly, moving the heavyset man's hand from around his sister to rest between her shoulders, encouraging him to apply light pressure. Soon as he did Kai sagged against him in relief, her fearful hiccuping tears subsiding. Oh! This was where the sign was! Did touching it make its effects stronger or was it just reminding her it was there?   
  
"He can't get in," Simmons reassured the siblings as he rose back to his feet. "He's pretty pissed about that. Be glad you can't hear him." A part of Grif was morbidly curious as to what Simmons could hear that they couldn't, though honestly, he didn't want to know. "He's screwing with your head. If he can't get in, he wants to try and get us to go out."   
  
Grif helped Kai back up though she still clung to him, one hand still in his the other gripping his shirt. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't clinging as tightly. Thoughts of times when they were little and had to hide though neither one knew just what from. Only that something was nearby and that it was dangerous. Hold up in a closet or cupboard all night, wrapped up in blankets and the big quilt, watching over one another until the feeling went away, and they could finally sleep.

  
Grif made the mistake of looking out the window when it came into view. Because he was an idiot.   
  
Kai's comparison of it to a video game was spot on. While the canyon as a whole should have been pitch black, Grif could see objects for several yards. They popped out of the darkness as though they were being lit by some unseen source before it all just faded away into total blackness.   
  
The most unsettling thing though was there was someone out there.   
  
Grif knew it was Church, but he didn't look right. His armor looked faded, almost bleached, scraped and scuffed like it had the crap beat out of it. Church himself was not moving. He was standing stock still staring directly at them. Grif didn't need to see inside his helmet to know with total certainty that he wasn't blinking. The weirdest thing, by far, was that the total darkness seemed to stop right behind him. Like it was a shoreline lapping at his heels. Grif stood there, locked in place by the heavy gaze of the Blue, and he flinched when Church abruptly moved. Not forward or back. Not side to side, closer or far. It was a twitch of his head, snapping to the side in a way a head shouldn't and, despite the distance, he could hear the sound of the bones and muscles cracking and popping, like a ropey twisting sound. Like cracking stalks of celery under a layer of thick mud.   
  
It took him a moment to register that there was something in his hand. No. Someone. He was holding up a body by the bracing bar on the back of their armor chest piece. He knew that color, that sunshine yellow. But, that was impossible, how, how could he have-?   
  
Kai's head lolled when Church jerked her up. Her faint whimper of fear and pain reached her brother's ears despite the distance. Faint trails of red dripped down over the savaged armor plates, splattering mutely in the dirt. Grif wanted to cry out, but his voice wouldn't let him, wanted to run to her but he felt like something was holding him back with tremendous force even though he struggled. He could only watch in horror as Church sank his fingers into the shoulder seam of her under armor and started to peel it off. No. Not just her under armor, the flesh underneath it too. Kai cried pitifully as her C.O cast the mass aside like a peel from a crushed piece of fruit.   
  
Church, reached over and began to dig his hand into her neck.   
  
"Dexter!"   
  
Grif started at the cry; he would have stumbled back if not for the tight grip around his middle. He made a sound of confused surprise as he found himself with a face full of dark messy waves and the smell of distinct flower shampoo in his nose.   
  
"Kai?" his voice was shaking. What? What the hell was-?   
  
Kai was there, she had her arms around him and seemed to be holding onto him as tightly as she could. As he became aware of dull pain on his face he realized she must have headbutted him by accident when she'd dug in her heels to stop him. Stop him from what-? Oh... He blinked to clear the blur in his eyes finally seeing the metal hand gripped firm and tight around his wrist. He'd been reaching? For...? For the window? The hand's owner had blocked his line of sight, Simmons stood between Grif, his sister, and the window.   
  
"What?" he whispered, the question seemed to satisfy Simmons, who let him go, and he wrapped his free arm around his little sister as she trembled, whispering tearful denials and quiet damnation on her cobalt teammate.   
  
"It wasn't real," Simmons said quietly, "whatever he showed you. Kai is here and so are you, and you're both okay." Grif caught a glimpse out of the window when Simmons turned around in the small awkward space they all occupied at the moment and all he saw was the darkness. Church, if he'd actually been there, was gone now. "I think maybe we should try to stay away from the windows tomorrow."   
  
He made to move away but was stopped by Kai, who'd snatched ahold of his arm tugging him back so she was sandwiched between them like a scared kid hiding from a bad dream between their parents. Grif lowered his own hand, hiding his heating face against his sibling's hair, embarrassed that he hadn't been the one to pull the redhead back, or maybe that he'd impulsively done it at all.   
  
  
Fitting three adults in a bed that could barely handle two should have been impossible, but Grif had accepted that things around Simmons just kind of worked, particularly in the case of spaces and the things in them, or time moving like it should. Guy was basically a big cosmic bolder in the river that was physics. So Grif woke up in his own bed, feeling like he'd slept a full ten hours instead of the expected three or four he should have, with his little sister curled up beside him, her face buried in a pillow, one of his arms draped over her, with Simmons on her other side, scooted as respectful a distance away as the space allowed, with a hand resting over Grif's.   
  
He tried to ignore the warm, happy, feeling that tightened inside his chest.   


* * *

  
If the previous night’s creepiness had been all they had to deal with that would have been okay. But _nooooooo_ .   
  
That day the trio found themselves pausing to listen at seemingly random intervals. In the nearly deafening silence, they could just make out the sound of footsteps. Slow. Steady. Walking in a circuit around the outside of the base, accompanied by the crunch of dirt and dry grass. If they happened to be near one of the shuttered, slit windows the footsteps would pause outside it until the Reds (and guest) moved far enough away.   
  
When evening rolled around, or when they felt tired anyway, they ended up moving their bedding to the living room. They strapped together some of the thin mattresses from the medical cots and laid them out on the floor over the ratty carpet at the foot of the couch. It had been Simmons' idea and Grif had to admit that he was impressed. Well, not in like a 'wow I never thought of that' way, more that he hadn't expected such a hard ass like Simmons to lend his know-how and practicality to the cause of sleeping. Brought a tear to the eye, it really did. So that's how they slept. The three of them curled up on the Franken-mattress, not crunched together like the night before, more relaxed and a healthy distance apart.   
  
Neither he nor Kai dreamed that night, which was for the best.   


* * *

  
The next day Church took to scratching at the doors. A faint barely there thing you had to strain to hear. Sometimes Grif thought he heard other people talking, but he never went to check. He knew they weren't really there. No matter how real their pleading cries and screams might sound.   


* * *

  
The day after there was a storm. Not rain, just lightning. Grif could see the flashes of light through the slats. It was a strange color; one he didn't have a name for. Actually the more he thought of it the more he was sure he hadn't ever seen a color like it before.   
  
Kai was very much not a fan. She sat purposefully in the rec room (where they were spending almost all of their time) with her back to the window and her headphones in. This actually seemed to make the storm... Angrier? It raged even louder after that.   
  
Kai just flipped it off.   


* * *

  
The storm was still going the next day, but, as Blue drama dictated, it just had to kick it up a notch. They were eating the sad MREs that counted as breakfast when something slammed into the nearby window. When the three of them had finished shouting and flipping their chairs, Simmons was sent to inspect it.   
  
The redhead made a sound of revulsion, rushing to fetch a pair of cleaning gloves so he could pry what appeared to be the smashed remains of a good sized bird from the slats.   
  
Kai shot her brother an uncomfortable look before her gaze slid up to stare at the ceiling. Grif followed suit wondering what she'd noticed. A moment of silence and he could make out the pattering **thump thump thump** of something hitting the roof. They had already formed the idea in their heads before Simmons confirmed it (he was the only one who could look out the window right now without being struck with hellish visions) Birds. Hundreds of thousands of poor birds, plummeting from who the fuck knew where, to smack into the dirt and the roof of the base like a morbid, feathery, tennis ball.   
  
Grif hoped they were already dead before they landed. That's what he assured his sister, even as he struggled to convince himself.   
  
  
Sometime that night, while they were sleeping, the power went out.   
  
Nothing seemed to work in getting them back on. Not that they didn't try, or well not that Simmons didn't try. He wasn't a mechanic, not like Lopez, but he knew more than Grif or his sister did. But even after several hours of tampering and quiet cursing the most the redhead could get on was the emergency lights, which filled the whole base with an uncomfortable red glow.   
  
But, that was better than the alternative. See Grif wasn't an idiot, he knew exactly what the end goal was. See there were certain aspects of their various... Heritages that brought advantages and disadvantages. The human in them made for greater susceptibility to cracking under the general aura of madness that Elder Spawn and their parents naturally projected. Well okay, that wasn't totally fair. It wasn't that they broadcast crazy, it was that by virtue of just being what they were (never mind using any of the 'gifts' they might have or if they revealed how inhuman their bodies actually were) it was hard for the human mind to properly perceive them. The strain of that and the general toll of any projected mental abilities they had broke people down until they crumpled under it. Inversely their more inhuman heritage had a greater capacity for withstanding mental assault, and they were able to comprehend the more 'outside' beings far better so weren't likely to fall to pieces. However the more they leaned into that other bloodline, the easier they could be bound and converted by an elder being. Humans were too fragile for that.   
  
So that was Church's game.   
  
Stay human and use emergency lights, wearing themselves down more and more and becoming vulnerable to the illusions he'd already tried to attack them with. The only protection from that being to stay as close to Simmons and risk him accidentally hurting them as time wore on. Or they could give in more to their Deep One blood and be able to see in dim light. A little more and they'd gain their bioluminescence and see as well as if the sun had been out. But if they did that they'd have to hole up as far away from both Simmons and Church as possible or potentially succumb to their presence as an addict does to a drug.   
  
Question was. Who was that supposed to hurt more? Them? Or Simmons?   
  
Not for the first time, Grif wondered just what had happened that first day when the redhead had come staggering back through the canyon. Had he done something...? If he did, what was it?   


* * *

  
In the end, both of the Grif siblings had remained staunchly human. They'd survived this long without giving in; they weren't about to now! It just meant they had to put up with the strain.   
  
And boy did Church double down on that.   
  
Kaikaina wouldn't tell them what she saw. She did a good job of hiding it, keeping outward jumping and cries of alarm to a minimum. The only way Grif could tell she had perceived far more than she let on was the obvious fact that he'd practically raised her, so he knew her moods and behaviors well enough to recognize her abrupt quietness or even deliberate loudness for what it was. Add in the fact that she'd always been far more sensitive and 'aware' than he was, meant she must be seeing and hearing much, much, more because Grif himself was seeing and hearing quite a bit.   
  
It was, for the most part, scenes of violence. Trails of blood and viscera leading off farther into the base which he refused to follow. As they worsened, they got more personal. Bodies strewn about the place, at first just laying sprawled out, then later on mutilated and desecrated in increasingly disturbing and ritualistic ways. He recognized the people and the scene. He'd been there before.   
  
The doomed colony.   
  
He told himself that it made him more angry and annoyed than disturbed, even when things changed to the cries and lamenting of his squadmates. Broken and sometimes barely alive bodies reaching out to him to be saved, for their suffering to end.   
  
  
Grif paused as he left the kitchen area, a small stack of warmed up MREs and the last of Donut's homemade butter rolls wrapped up in a bundle of paper towels. Some of both for him, some for Simmons and Kai.   
  
The hall before him was... grotesque at best. Instead of concrete, the walls were... no real way to dress this up or soften it, it was meat. The walls were covered in meat. Gore and viscera, the flesh, tendons, nerves, organs, and all other insides humans possessed, plastered and twisted and... Woven, into the walls, ceiling, and floor so that it looked as though the structure had been grown rather than assembled. 

  
God that was gross. The wet stickiness. The smell. The way things pulsed and twitched and moved.   
  
The way it all _breathed_ .   
  
He set his expression in a neutral and unimpressed fashion. "Got to admit," he drawled out loud, knowing that despite any distance, the seething Blue asshole could still hear him. "This is a pretty low blow. Even for you.” He sighed and prepared himself mentally for the journey down this memory he'd rather have never revisited. "You must be slipping, though. You got the general gist, but the details are all wrong." He gestured to a cancerous growth near the floor, "See, those were lungs."   
  
"Yeah, it's pretty mean."   
  
Grif almost fell on his ass, he whirled around so quickly, "Uh..."   
  
"Hello!" Caboose replied with a bubbly wave.   
  
Okay well... That was... Unexpected? If it wasn't for his voice Grif wouldn't have recognized him, his armor looked near black in the red light.   
  
"I'm sorry Church is being such a meany," the large Blue continued. "Don't worry. I'm sure he'll stop soon. He's just sad."   
  
Uh...   
  
The two just kind of stood there in awkward silence for several long moments, Caboose tilting his helmet in childish confusion when Grif didn't reply to anything he'd said.   
  
"Okay well, I'm going to go to my downstairs room and draw some pictures," Caboose chirped, seeming to be bored with everything. "Have a nice lunch, Gruff!"   
  
Grif blinked, dumbfounded, watching as the Blue made good on what he'd said and sauntered off down the meat hallway, which was now concrete once more.   
  
"Okay, I don't know what that was supposed to be," he told the audient void, "but it was really weird, I will give you that."   


* * *

  
"So," Simmons began carefully, a day or two later, "we have less food left than I thought we did."   
  
Both siblings looked up at him from their dinners. They were hunkered down in the rec room as was now custom. Food set out on the sad rickety coffee table, temporarily at the foot of their makeshift Franken bed. Or as Kaikaina had started calling it, their 'nest'. Mostly because the name made Simmons flustered and Grif mad. Sibling teasing at its finest.   
  
As such, she was the first to break off and shoot her brother a scathing look, "The fuck, Dex! Were you sneaking food?"   
  
"No, I didn't!" he snapped back at her, "Only snacks I've had are from my personal stash. I've been making just as many sacrifices as anyone else here! Probably more so!"   
  
"Stop!" Simmons pleaded. "I didn't want you guys to fight! No one took anything! And I did account for Grif- uh, Dexter's appetite when I checked. There should have been plenty with just three of us until next drop but now there isn't." He deflated, "I must have miscounted..."   
  
"Dude, look," Grif started, feeling guilty. This was already really hard on everyone. "I'm sure we can figure something out. We'll check again."   
  
"Oh! Oh! I'll help! I like counting games!"   
  
Grif actually jumped, turning abruptly to look at Caboose, who'd appeared in the doorway. Beside him Kai flinched, jerking to look where he had. Uh oh. Shit, that wasn't what he wanted! He didn't need to make crap harder for her by making it obvious he was seeing shit! What should he say? Whatever she was imagining was probably worse that Caboose but it was still weird so would this have some unintended meaning? Like to remind her of a teammate that might very well be dead?   
  
"Umm," Simmons ventured, "What are you doing here Caboose?"   
  
Wait. What?   
  
"Oh thank fuck I thought I was nuts," Kai muttered under her breath.

  
Uh...   
  
"Oh! I was drawing downstairs, but I got bored so I came up here to say hello!"   
  
"That's not what I meant," the elder spawn sighed. "How did you get in here?"   
  
"Oh!" Caboose chirped, "There's a hole in my wall! The one at the Blue base, not here at the Red base. But it goes to the Red base! Sometimes."   
  
"Sometimes?" Grif repeated in a slightly too high pitch.   
  
"Yeah, sometimes it goes other places, but I don't like them very much. They, umm, they are not very nice places."   
  
"Ah, fuck me..." Simmons sighed. "Let me guess, you've helped yourself to things in the kitchen, haven't you?"   
  
"No. Well. Yes. But only the things you don't have to cook because Tucker says I'm not allowed to use the microwave. Or the stove. Or sharp knives. Or the blender. Or the dishwasher... But, yeah, normally I wouldn't listen to him because Tucker is stupid, but Church said I shouldn't either, and he got really mad so..."   
  
Simmons sighed again, "Guess that explains that." His expression turned serious, "You really should go back to your own base Caboose. You being here could definitely cause potential issues. Church could try to use you to get in."   
  
"Oh no," Caboose said with a laugh, "Church won't do anything bad! He is just sad!"   
  
"You said that before," Grif asked slowly, cautious of going too far into the mire of the Blue's thought processes. "What do you mean?"   
  
"Yeah, he seems more pissed off to me!" Kai agreed.   
  
"Nooooo," Caboose chided, like they were children, "Church is just sad because the scary lady went away!"   
  
"Scary-? Wait you mean Tex?" Grif blinked in surprise, you know, come to think of it, she hadn't shown up to reel this nutcase in yet had she? "She left? Where did she go?"   
  
Caboose hummed, "With Simon! Simmmminim...? Cinnamon? Smmmminimnimnnnm..."   
  
The Grif siblings turned in unison to stare down Simmons who had paled.   
  
"Simmons," Grif started slowly, "what is he talking about?" He really needed to not jump to conclusions. This was Caboose and not to mention Church was outside. Still, he could feel slivers of hot anger and sickening betrayal churning in his stomach.   
  
Simmons shifted uncomfortably, "He's not wrong," he began hesitantly, Grif's stomach sank further. "Tex isn't here anymore, and it... did have something to do with me... She... It's complicated."   
  
"Wait," Kaikaina chimed in, "what does that mean? Like, what did you fuck her or something? Or did you buy her a plane ticket? That's so vague!"   
  
"Is that why you were all beat up?!" Grif demanded a hurt he didn't want to think about growing in his chest. "Did like Church find out she was doing this, thing, with you, and he kicked your ass?"   
  
"No!" Simmons shouted. 

"Did you put my fucking sister in danger because you couldn't keep it in your pants!?"  
  
"No!" Simmons repeated, rising abruptly to his feet, there was an almost palpable pressure in the air. "I wouldn't! That's not what it was! And Church didn't mess me up! Tex did!"  
  
"Why!? What did you do!?"  
  
"I didn't do-! I didn't have a choice! Tex knew things! She forced me!"  
  
"She beat you up to make you help her leave her ex?!"  
  
"No!"  
  
"Then where is she?! Where did you take her?"  
  
"Nowhere!"  
  
"The fuck does that mean-!"  
  
"Tex didn't go anywhere!" Simmons shouted, red face and watery eyes marking his breaking point. "She's fucking dead!"  
  
Total silence hit the room, save for Simmons' labored breathing. Grif stared at him in shock. What? What did that... What the fuck? Was Simmons saying that... that Tex had gone to him and made him help her... Die?  
  
Why? What did-?   
  
...  
  
His eyes slowly grew wide in horror. Earlier that day, when Simmons had been 'hungry', how he'd been gone when he woke up, the nightmare he had? Simmons being completely out of it when he'd staggered back... Grif's brain slipped, trying to put these disjointed pieces into some kind of whole. What had she done...? He said she'd forced him. She knew things? She was a Ghoul, at least mostly, and they tended to know all kinds of secrets and rituals and- _"Do_ _you want me to tell you what his purpose is?"_ _  
_  
"Murderer."  
  
"Shut up!" Simmons shrieked, rounding on Caboose, who had been the one who'd spoken. Or at least the voice had come out of him.  
  
It would be the last.  
  
Grif, Kai, and probably even Simmons himself had no time to react as Caboose.... exploded.  
  
There was a sickening, wet, snapping, **_crack_** as his legs went in one direction, his torso the opposite and his head a third. The armor shattered into little blue shards, like a child crushing sugar glass in their hands. Blood (and god knew what else) splattered in a deranged star pattern, huge swaths of it across the wall and arced up and onto the ceiling. It drenched the floor and Kai's silent scream gained real volume as splashed on her feet.   


Grif hauled her up with him, holding her against himself protectively as he pulled them away from the now stained bedding. Simmons just stared, features wracked with guilt, misery, and self-loathing. Kai shook, choked little sobs escaping as she hid her face. She'd never seen death like this... Not real death. When had he become nearly numb to it? Less afraid?  
  
"I... I didn't mean..." Simmons weakly murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "Oh my god, Caboose." The spawn stared at the damage he'd done. Grif stared at him, stared at his crumbling features, the thin trail of blood dripping out of his nose, "I'm so sorry... I wasn't trying to-"   
  
"Oopsies!"   
  
Kaikaina let out a startled shriek at the sound of her exploded teammate's voice, and Grif tensed, head snapping to look while also trying to keep himself between his little sibling and whatever the fuck this was now. Please, no talking heads. Oh fuck, it was a talking head wasn't it?   
  
"Uh oh... That's not good," Caboose mused, looking down at the mass of mangled nope that was...himself?   
  
Umm? The fuck? How in the actual fucking **_FUCK_ ** ?!   
  
"That did not go well," the Blue continued. "Don't worry Simon! I will make Church clean it up!" He looked off in the distance at nothing. "That was not nice, Church! It was very mean! You should not do that. To. Your friends!"   
  
"How did-?" Simmons blinked the wetness from his eye. "Uh, the um, hole in your wall?"   
  
Caboose tilted his head, "Yes!"   
  
"Oh," the redhead let out a soft breath, "Caboose? I think you should go home."   
  
"But, what about Church?"

"He'll be going home, too You should be there when he gets back. Wouldn't want him to miss you, right?"  
  
"Oh that is true!" the Blue agreed with genuine sympathy. "Okie Dokie! I will go home and wait for Church! He can tell me if it's okay to let Tucker out of the dryer yet!"

"Yeah," Simmons replied sadly. "You go do that." As the brain-addled Blue scampered excitedly from the room the redhead turned to face the two siblings. "Grif... Um, Dexter, Kai. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for any of this to happen. This wasn't..." he trailed off, "Don't worry, I'll take care of everything. I'll fix it. Just- I-" he took a slow step towards the door, carefully avoiding the gore that still remained. "I'll fix it."

  
Then he was gone. 

  
  
Grif, just stood there, still holding his trembling sister.   
  
"Kai?" he questioned softly after a moment. "Talk to me, you okay?"   
  
"No," came her eventual muffled reply, "I'm not." She took a shaky breath, finally disengaging herself from him. "I'm okay," she told herself, or him, or both. "I'm going to be okay. Just kind of freaked out." She hesitantly looked towards the source of her distress, brow furrowing almost immediately, "It's gone..."   
  
Grif followed her gaze. She was right. The remains of... Whatever manifestation of Caboose had wandered in earlier, were gone. The floor, walls, ceiling, their makeshift bed... All spotless, like it had never been there at all.   
  
"Dexter," his sister called softly. "Where's Simmons?"   
  
Grif blinked, "He said he was going to fix everything."   
  
"And you just let him go?!"   
  
"Uh, yeah?"   
  
"Why would you do that?!"   
  
"Why wouldn't I?!"   
  
"Don't you even care?!"   
  
"What are you even talking about?!" Grif demanded.   
  
"What if he gets hurt?!"   
  
"Uh, I don't know if you noticed, but he blew Caboose the fuck up!"   
  
"Of course I noticed!" Kai stomped her foot in frustration. “And it fucking freaked me out! You happy!? But he didn't mean to do it! And you know that! We're all super fucked up! People like him and people like you and me!" The younger Grif rounded on her sibling as she worked herself up, "How many times have we done screwed up shit we didn't want to do?! Did you know, I almost ate a guy once!? I fucked up at a party started making out in a pool, and I almost fucking drowned and ate this guy!"   
  
"Jesus Christ Kai..." Grif whispered weakly.   
  
"He fucked up, okay? No matter how careful we are sometimes we still fuck up!" his sister sniffed. "He's a big idiot, just like you and me. Because life is shit, and it's not fair! And it's not fair of **you** to just let him go get himself killed because he's feeling guilty, and you’re all butthurt!"   
  
Grif sighed, reaching out to pet his sister's hair as he had done when they were little. It was baffling to him. She was clearly really upset, that much was obvious, so much so that her teeth had grown sharper, and he could see specs of faint phosphorescence starting to form between the twines of her hair. What he didn't get was, why this? Caboose’s not-death had been horrific, that part made sense, but the Simmons part? Was he missing something? Because he was pretty sure that Caboose or Church, or not Church, or whoever, had leveled a pretty damning accusation at him, one that he hadn't quite denied. It was his fault they'd all been trapped in here, terrorized and tortured for several days. Simmons had admitted it. So why was she acting like Simmons was being treated unfairly? Like he hadn't betrayed their trust?! "Look, I don't know what you want me to do," he finally admitted in annoyance. "Not like I can stop either of them. And besides, why do you even care?"   
  
Kai screwed her face up in petulant frustration, "Oh my god, Dexter. You're so goddamn dense!" she wailed. "Just go fucking get him! I know you! You'll hate yourself forever if you let him get fucked up!"   
  
"I will not," Grif said flatly, crossing his arms.   
  
Kai glared hard back at him, and he was taken by surprise when he was smacked upside the head with a fully formed, angrily glowing, lure.   
  
"Goddamn it," Kai seethed, gripping the entwined hair-like fibers that made up the stalk of the thing, pulling it out and away from the side of her head. "Now I have to go cut this thing off! It's going to hurt like a bitch! Go get your fucking boyfriend, Dexter!"   
  
Grif choked, "He is not my-!" He was cut off with a squawk as the lure snapped the air near his head again, thrashing about in his sister's grip like a furious snake. "Fine! I'm fucking going! Goddamn it!"   
  
So he did.   


Stalking angrily down the hall Grif mulled this nonsense over. What was he doing? He was only going to check because Kai was upset. She probably was just because Simmons was an Elder Spawn. It was an instinctive impulse. It didn't mean anything, nothing real anyway. Just like it didn't mean anything real to him either. Sure Simmons was fun to talk to, and hell he'd admit it, he was fun to mess around with, too! But that didn't mean anything! Because Simmons wasn't just Simmons. This whole thing just proved it. He was dangerous just by virtue of being nearby, and he was a complete dumbass for forgetting that... Even more so for feeling hurt by it...  


* * *

  
The door to the outside was open. Grif felt the unnaturally cold (for Blood Gulch) air wafting in before he’d even hit the ramp. Moving cautiously to the edge of the entryway, Grif realized he was too late. Even in the unnatural darkness, the two figures were easy to spot, like they had a personal spotlight on them.

Simmons and Church stood facing one another; it was hard to tell from this distance but it seemed like maybe they were talking? They were squaring off at least. There was something kind of...off? About the whole thing. It wasn't that Church was still in his armor and Simmons was in his fatigues. Though it really did show just how much that shit added. Like Simmons was already freakishly tall and with the armor on Church was about the same height. No, it was like... like there was something he wasn't quite seeing, like a mirage caused by heat waves, or one of those magic eye poster things that made a resurgence in the early 2500s. Something was there, he just couldn't process what it was, not quite.  
  
...Wait. For just a fraction of a second, he could have sworn that Simmons had a tail? No...more like a mouth? Or both? Neither?  
  
Grif started forward, made to call out, but he couldn't. His breath was caught in his throat, the words wouldn't couldn't, come out. He became aware of a kind of pressure. Something he couldn't see holding him back. Was it the wards from before? Was it something the two elder spawn were doing? Or was it sheer instinctive self-preservation?   
  
No. No, it was definitely something. Grif staggered as the pressure increased, turning into a sharp pounding pain in his skull. His vision started to blur slightly, and he became aware of his own strained breathing, shallow and desperate, the sound almost deafening. Shit, shit he was hyperventilating! His legs shook, threatening to buckle. He managed to grab hold of the wall to keep from falling. Another sharp pain rang out like a lance across his neck. He cursed mutely as the skin there split in deep grooves; his gills opening up against his will as his body struggled to get oxygen anyway it could. Everything hurt, and there was a soundless straining groan from everywhere around him, as though the world itself was a sheet of glass threatening to shatter into a million pieces.   
  
Damn it. Damn it, Simmons, what was he doing? Why was he out here like this? Why face down Church this way? He was going to get killed! There was no way he could fend him off and survive it! Simmons was just a basic Elder Spawn, Church was that _and_ possessed! With an actual fucking **GOD** tethered to this crazy Blue son of a bitch, there was just no way! Maybe if Simmons could bring his own sire into the argument he could take him down but A) it was pretty obvious that Simmons' "father" was completely indifferent to his offspring, and B) even having just one Elder being basically here was straining reality almost to its breaking point, two would probably kill them all. If they were lucky...  
  
There were far worse things than dying after all.  
  
Grif's knees hit the concrete slab of the entryway as he finally lost the fight with gravity. He felt the slight resistance of the wall he'd been clinging to as his newly grown claws tore deep grooves in it like it was wet clay. He felt the burning strain on his back, the shift of spines, fins, octopoid tentacles, just beneath the surface, his body trying to force the change in its desperate attempt to try and save itself.   
  
Such bullshit... He may not have had any real goals in life but expiring as a mangled half changed fish monster was absolutely not something he wanted.   
  
Asshole extra-dimensional piece of shit bastards!  
  
_Very well._  
  
Grif felt more than heard the "voice", strung together in a cacophony of thousands of muddled yet distinct voices, languages, and inferences.  
  
_You're a devious child for certain, but you_ _are still terribly naive. You will regret this_ _bargain I am sure if you survive it. I accept._  
  
Then. In a fraction of a moment. It was over. Like a bad cut in a movie. A shit transition in a game. Just unnatural darkness one second then suddenly, _ding_ , sun out, bright, shining, locked in the middle of the sky like nothing had happened, air back to sweltering, dry, and dusty so suddenly it made him want to gag. The only sign anything had gone awry was Lopez's disembodied head, which Grif had failed to notice before now, jammed into the upper corner of the entryway, in a mass of wires and scrap like some macabre mechanical bird's nest. He stared at it for a long fraction of a second before his lungs realized they were no longer being crushed into a singularity and took a breath so deep that he almost blacked out from the surge of oxygen.   
  
Hacking and coughing Grif raised himself up from where he'd nearly doubled over. Just in time to catch sight of Church toppling like a boneless ragdoll, collapsing into a heap of sprawled limbs in the dirt, complete with a little puff cloud of dust. In any other situation, it would have actually been hilarious.   
  
Grif struggled to his feet, alarmed when he saw Simmons give a jerky and unsteady sway, "S-Simmons," Grif croaked, voiced raspy and fucked from the attempted change, raw from being forced back to normal.  
  
The redhead, turned to face him, unsteady, as though he were drunk, and Grif felt his chest give a pained, almost guilty, clench when he caught sight of the thick black ichor seeping out from his teammate's nose, ears, and from beneath the metal plating that covered where his cybernetics joined his organic parts. A slight shift in the air brought the repulsive odor of it right to him.  
  
"Dumbass..." Simmons said, quiet enough that Grif wouldn't have caught it if he were normal. "I told you not to come outside." He took a shaky step towards him, seemingly oblivious to the dark stain spreading across his shirt from his shoulder to his chest, "Know how much shit your sister would give me if you died? How much of a pain it would be to bury your fat ass?"

  
Grif smiled weakly, it was that or break down into hysterics, "You know I don't listen," he prodded back, "besides if you kicked it who would I get to do all my chores for me?"   
  
Simmons huffed out a laugh, then, knees buckling and eyes rolling back, he collapsed in the same manner Church had.   
  
Grif scrambled to catch him before he hit the ground.

**To be Continued.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey! :D Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, and that it wasn't too creepy or gross for you all! Next time we're going on a little trip...to Rat's Nest! 83
> 
> Also, I am open to suggestions for additions to this series so if there are things you want to see or pique your interest in this or later chapters please don't hesitate to let me know!
> 
> Another huge thank you to PirateLynLyn for helping me out! As always I'd love to know what you guys though! Your feedback is super helpful and gives me creative fuel! If you want to check out my artwork or even just say hello, feel free to stop by my tumblr! Here--> http://cc-sketchbook.tumblr.com  
> The sketches that inspired this fic can be seen here:  
> http://cc-sketchbook.tumblr.com/post/178805881873/day-six-of-sketchtober-simmons-from-rvb-as-wilbur  
> Here:  
> http://cc-sketchbook.tumblr.com/post/179503070908/day-twenty-seven-of-sketchtober-kaikaina-and  
> and here:  
> http://cc-sketchbook.tumblr.com/post/179575695888/day-twenty-nine-of-sketchtober-agent-carolina
> 
> See you guys next time! ~ Much love, CC

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed the first chapter! Next part should be up in a week or two since (for once) its already been written! 
> 
> Also I am open to suggestions for additions to this series so if there's things you want to see or pique your interest in this or later chapters please don't hesitate to let me know!
> 
> Another huge thank you to PirateLynLyn for helping me out! As always I'd love to know what you guys though! Your feedback is super helpful and gives me creative fuel! If you want to check out my art work or even just say hello, feel free to stop by my tumblr! Here--> http://cc-sketchbook.tumblr.com  
> The sketches that inspired this fic can be seen here:  
> http://cc-sketchbook.tumblr.com/post/178805881873/day-six-of-sketchtober-simmons-from-rvb-as-wilbur  
> Here:  
> http://cc-sketchbook.tumblr.com/post/179503070908/day-twenty-seven-of-sketchtober-kaikaina-and  
> and here:  
> http://cc-sketchbook.tumblr.com/post/179575695888/day-twenty-nine-of-sketchtober-agent-carolina
> 
> See you guys next time! ~ Much love, CC


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